retrospective

I realized today at work, while writing expiration dates on bottles of syrup, that it has been three months since my birthday. Not that significant, except that I've been marking that as the date when this downward spiral started. Or maybe the last day before the spiral. Whichever.

That day began so well. I felt good when I woke up. Happy, if tentatively so. For the greater part of that day, in fact, I felt like things were going to be ok, because I was starting to make them ok. I was moving on. I was doing well, and would do better.

Less than three weeks later things had deteriorated so far that I decided to move across the country in a last-ditch effort to salvage some part of my life. How the fuck did that happen? Something changed, practically overnight, and I don't even know what it was. Now it's three months later and when I have good days I'm too afraid to say that maybe I'm finally starting that ascent back into health and contentment, because look at how fast everything went to hell the last time I said that.

Three months. That's a quarter of an entire year. A long time. A short time. Long enough for life to change completely. Hell... one night is enough time for that. And once it changes, it doesn't go back. You can't erase things and pretend they never happened. You can't "go back to normal." You can't unlearn what the experience taught you, no matter how much you try to ignore it. You can't go back to believing things you don't believe in anymore.

That was my afternoon. Mostly a reality check, which I'm trying to use as fuel to keep going forward instead of letting it be weight keeping me where I am. I'm not sure what happened three months ago - not sure if there was one catalytic thought that totally changed my mindset and shot me down, or if it was a combination of many things I could readily identify, but won't right here. I'm also not sure what's going to happen tomorrow, except that I'm going to see a doctor and trying not to be too freaked out about it. Also not sure what I'm trying to write about here.

I guess the only thought to close with is that if the next three months bring changes as drastic as the last three, I hope they're improvements. There's no going back to three months ago, or even eight months ago. I think... I might need to redefine happiness, because the old definition doesn't seem attainable anymore. Then I can steer there, to the new version of being happy, and it won't be like anywhere I've been before, but it might be someplace worth being.

I should not blog at night. I don't think that made any sense at all.

Good night.

another step in the long road

I believe in being genuine, especially when it comes to dealing with mental illness. This is mostly because reading about other people who have the courage to be open about their weaknesses has given me strength to deal with mine.

I also believe in guarding my own privacy... and I don’t always strike the best balance between openness and privacy, especially when it comes to being online. I know I’ve gone too far in each direction more than once, depending on my emotions at the time. That’s why I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to anyone when I say that I’m depressed, and struggling toward recovery.

At least, some days I struggle. Most days I just survive. Today I have struggled, though, at least a little bit. Let’s see if I can talk about it without skewing that line between genuine and private.

I went to a counseling appointment today. It took an absurd amount of time to find a good therapist once I arrived here in New Jersey, but that’s a different drama. I have one now, thanks to the timely intervention of a good friend.

I was late by a couple minutes, and lucky it wasn’t more, because in a moment of distraction while I thought about the upcoming session, I got on the highway going toward work instead of toward Route 1, and had to waste time turning around. Then I spent most of the drive being really annoyed with myself over that mistake and trying to gauge whether I could make up the time on the road, arguing with myself in my head: “Remember that time you made it from Livingston campus to the Pin Oak house in 21 minutes? This isn’t even as far.” “Do you know how fast I was going that time? Also it was night. Also the roads are wet, and there's the little fact that I spun the car out three weeks ago...”

Anyway, I got there, and a good thing I did. See… well, I wish I could adequately explain just how frustrating this has been. “Frustrating” isn’t even the right word. Events, or lack of them, more accurately, have contributed to this growing sense of despair, feeding from that into conviction that things will never be all right. So every day I tell myself, “Hold on a little bit longer. There’s something you haven’t tried yet, and you have to try everything. Wait to see a psychiatrist. Wait for a prescription. Wait for the effects to kick in, wait to see if it makes a difference… even though it doesn’t feel like it’s going to make a difference, wait and see if it does.” And I wait… but so many days in a row bring me no closer than I was before to any of those steps, and the weight gets a little heavier… the cloud gets a little denser… and I have to argue with people about whether what I’m waiting for is even necessary.

I want another word for despair, and I don’t even have the energy to stop and think of one.

Today, I hoped and expected to get a name from my therapist. A number I could call. Somebody I could say I was referred to, so at least I could have that much confidence that I was going to the right place.

I got the name, and more. My therapist started to ask if I was going to make the call, then stopped and asked if I would like her to call, right then. And then she dialed, got in touch with somebody right away, and made sure that I’ll have an appointment next Friday.

I can’t tell you how relieved I was, for so many reasons. Not just that I have an appointment now, although that’s a big one. I’m also relieved that somebody actively supports my choice to pursue this option; that someone agrees not only that I have the right to make that choice, but that it very well might be the right choice to make; that someone was willing and offered to take on such a simple task that nevertheless seemed so overwhelming and draining, just to ensure my wellbeing. Yes, it’s her job to help me in my recovery, but she didn’t have to do the specific thing that she did, and there was no one else who would have. (Except for me, of course… and yes, I would have made the call, but I don’t think everything would have been accomplished with the same speed. Besides, these little things help more than most people realize.) Perhaps most importantly, there’s someone reminding me that the fact that I show up at her office every week on my own initiative means something. That’s a victory every time it happens, because it means I haven’t given up yet.

Progress. Significant progress. The cloud is still there, but that was a step, and every step is a real battle.

It’s not to say that the rest of the day was easy. I spent the rest of the session avoiding talking about one loss by talking about another one instead, which I had also been avoiding in past sessions.

I relived the month of November in halting words, unsure how to express the truth. The session went long. I burst into tears as soon as I walked out the door (they had only been leaking before), and they kept up for most of the 45 minute drive to my store where I needed to make sure my work schedule would be compatible with my new appointment. My face was dry when I walked in, but I noticed a little too late that the pooling tears had soaked and stained a sizable patch around the neckline of my shirt. (No one mentioned it. They never mention my red eyes when I come back from breaks, either. A kind and tactful bunch. I’m grateful for them.)

I went to a chiropractor who annoyed the hell out of me. (“There, don’t you feel your head clearing out now?” “Um. No. No, I really don’t.” Pretty sure it’s going to take more than a chiropractic adjustment to get that effect... although I think he meant a different kind of clear than I do.) I also realized when I got home at nearly 7:30 that I had hardly eaten anything all day. Then I realized that eating hasn't been such a struggle lately for the simple reason that I've been forgetting to struggle over it, which is just another problem itself.

Still. Today counts as a victory. Not the most important one… but then, I guess at this point all of them are important.

some random thoughts that mean something to me

The conversation over dinner tonight turned, randomly, to my parents' marriage.

Trying to remember how that happened now.

There was talk of relationships in general. My brother mentioned that while his girlfriend sometimes complains about how much he's like our dad, she secretly hopes that the two of them will turn out like my parents.

"Not a bad goal," I had to say, and my brother agreed.

I guess this is actually a belated Valentine's Day post, because my brother's comments touched on my own reflections on that day, and I think now that they were important enough to write down. After all, observing my parents was the reason that day was not as difficult as I expected.

It's not that I hate Valentine's Day. It's more that the day is so meaningless to me. This year, I did a little counting backwards, because I'm self-destructively analytical like that. So, the count:

One year ago, I was reeling a little bit (and feeling more than a little naive) from hearing the "I just don't have room for a girlfriend in my life right now" speech, which put an abrupt end to the first real connection I'd felt after a long and drawn-out breakup several months previously.

Two years ago, Sigh complained about feeling obligated to do something for Valentine's Day, went on a bit about society's expectations, and then bought me some cheap candy. It tasted kind of gross.

Three years ago, I was single. The same for every year before that.

This year Valentine's Day is the last thing in the world that matters in any practical way. I've got a world of other troubles on my mind, thanks very much.

Still, you can't really avoid thinking about it, at least a little bit. It's everywhere. I decided the best thing for myself would be to stay away from the internet for the day, and I mostly did that... but as my thoughts wandered, they fixed on that one year that I had somebody to share the day with, and how utterly ridiculous the day turned out to be. Here's the candy, given out of obligation - and not any obligation or pressure I had put forward, I might add; I stopped expecting gifts or gestures of any kind from Sigh quite awhile before that day - which I then felt obligated to appreciate and enjoy... and, really... is two years too much later to be irritated by the whole situation? A lot of people like to complain about Valentine's Day, and how it's a Hallmark holiday, just there to get us to spend money on cards and chocolate, and all this pressure to do something nice for the person you love... and, I'm sorry, but if it takes a sense of obligation to get you to do something nice for your significant other, then your relationship is already in trouble, if not failing altogether and only surviving out of habit. Mine certainly was. True, I'm not everybody... but I still think there's something messed up about needing a holiday to force you into a gesture of affection. If you're only doing it because it's expected, you have a problem. It might not manifest more seriously for some time yet, but you have a problem.

So, these are my thoughts, on my internet-free day, and at some point in the evening I'm sitting at the kitchen counter, inches away from the roses my dad brought home for my mom. They're still there tonight, and they're lovely. Not blood-red, and not sickly-pink, but this soft hue that's almost a peach color, which suits my mom more or less perfectly.

I looked at these roses, and I wasn't thinking about Valentine's Day. I was thinking about every other time over the past 30+ years that my dad has sent flowers to my mom. I thought about how he surprises her by making a celebration not just out of their wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of their engagement. I thought about him showing all of his kids the jewelry he'd gotten for her in secret, and asking us our advice on the most romantic way to give it to her.

I was a kid in Indiana again in my mind, looking out the living room window one morning and seeing my dad pull into the driveway. He'd been living in New Jersey without us for months because of a new job, only able to make it home every other weekend, but he'd just driven all night long to surprise my mom on their anniversary.

Mostly, I thought about how excited he gets over finding new ways and opportunities to make my mom feel special, all the time, after nearly 35 years of marriage. So I looked at those roses, and I thought that my mom and dad make Valentine's Day not seem cheap anymore.

I don't know that anything else needs to be said about that. Except, perhaps, that when you're not sure you believe in anything anymore, it's nice to find something to believe in so close to home.

writing habits

I've had unusually prolonged success implementing a new writing habit these past couple weeks. The rule started out like this: no internet until I have written at least 250 words.

I've tried daily writing quotas before. I've also tried systems of deprivation and reward. Most things seem to work for me temporarily, and then something always goes wrong. I get frustrated, or I skip a day, or I make an excuse do go ahead and do something I said I wouldn't do until later. So far - and I should probably knock on wood - that hasn't happened with this routine.

Why does this one work when others have failed? I have theories.

1. 250 words is not a lot. Sure, some days when I'm just not feeling a flow, it can seem like endless agony to get them down on paper. But really, it's a very small amount, and if I am having a good day, I can bust it out in less than 20 minutes. (Okay, make that a really good day, but still.) Attainable goals are awesome. They make you feel good about yourself. When you achieve them once, you become confident that you can achieve them again. If they seem easy, you start wondering how much more you can do.
2. Rewards are great, especially when you actually get them. See above about 250 words not being much.
3. Deprivation methods start to fail when you get carried away with them. It becomes easy to make excuses to take shortcuts when it seems like you'll just never get there by the long road. I could wake up in the morning and remember that I'm waiting for a really important email, and think to myself, "Oh, it couldn't hurt just to check quickly, even though I haven't done my writing yet." I could do that, and probably justify it, if I had a really huge initial writing goal to meet. But... 250 words? How am I going to justify skipping such a tiny writing stint? (For your reference, this post is already 349 words long at this point.)

So, these theories all seem to come back to the fact that I'm meeting a small goal. The downside of this, of course... is that it's a small goal. I am being successful at getting a small amount of writing done.

But I don't think that diminishes the success. For one thing, 250 is not a daily goal. It's a kickstart to my writing for the day, after which I can take a break to do some other things, knowing that I've at least accomplished something. (Achievement Unlocked: Internet Access!) Sometimes the day goes on and I don't have the time or energy to write more. That's fine; at least I'm writing every day. Other days I get some real momentum going and write quite a bit more. For the past few days, in particular, I've been coming out between 600 and 1200 words at the end of the day. That's not too bad.

Another important point is that this morning goal is not actually just about writing. It's about stopping myself from feeling like I'm wasting time. Before I started this, I realized that many mornings I went straight to the internet and spent a lot of time doing a whole lot of nothing before getting around to whatever I really wanted to do that day. If I let myself, I am perfectly capable of wasting hours on my computer in the morning before doing anything of consequence. Not anymore, though. Now the very first thing I do most mornings is grab my computer and start writing until I've hit 270 words or more. (I've been gradually increasing the goal as it gets easier to handle.) Once I've done that, I feel free to check my email and catch up on what the internet has been doing without me all night. And then, because I've gained some momentum of mental activity, I don't have as much trouble getting up and getting on with the rest of my day. It's quite nice, really.

...I actually intended to write a post about the scene I wrote today and how I had to fix it, which was going to lead into some things I've learned about writing lately. I wonder how I ended up on this subject instead. Oh well, maybe next time. :)

life: I'm doing it wrong

I used to think that college was the place where you figured out what you wanted. At the time, it certainly seemed to be packed full of important decisions. What will you major in? What will you do with that? Are you going to grad school? How are you going to spend the entire remainder of your life after graduation? Sometimes it seemed like the decisions we were making right then and there were going to set the rest of our lives in stone.

I suppose some people really did do things that way. Some studied material that led them to viable careers, which they began directly after graduation, and then stayed on that path. Some chose graduate programs that prepared them for careers they had a passion for, and worked toward concrete goals so they could have the life they wanted. And, hey, good for them.

I’ve been out of college for nearly three years now, and I still have no fucking clue what I want. Forget a career path; I don’t even know what sort of person I want to be. Not the one I am, certainly, with this accommodating nature that the stronger-minded members of my family find mildly contemptible; this obsession with making a good impression; this caution-first attitude which dissuades me from taking risks; this “everything is hopeless” mentality leading me to set myself up for failure, repeatedly, in multiple aspects of my life, just so that I can continue to tell myself that everything actually is hopeless.

Yesterday I made a crack online about how I wish I could rewrite my character sheet - just erase the whole thing and start over from scratch. Well, I don’t actually want that. For one thing, I’d have to know what changes I’d like to make on it. Besides, in some ways I’m pleased with the way things turned out. I like being bookish, for instance. All those hours I spent as a kid (and later) reading the most interesting books I could get my hands on? Wouldn’t trade them, not even for all the eyesight I’ve lost. Forays into epic fantasy, where you spend over a decade waiting for a single story to conclude? Totally worth it.

You know what, though? I could have done more than that. I could have reacted differently to the world around me. I didn’t have to listen to everything that people told me.

That’s what I’m really disappointed about, looking back at past-me: the number of times I listened to people when I probably shouldn’t have. I also regret some of the times I listened even when I should have. A healthy round of try/fail cycles would have been a valuable addition to my life experience. Instead I stayed very, very safe as a child, and a teenager, and a college student, with the result that I now have a very, very boring life.

Near the end of my college career, when I was in the middle of reading The Artist’s Way and felt like I was finding the key to unlocking all the things that were holding me back from what I really wanted, I wrote a short piece on creativity and God, mostly based on what I had just been reading. I remember being all full of excitement, thinking, “God wants me to be creative!” Like it gave me some kind of license to stop feeling guilty about loving writing so much. You know what I should have been thinking? “How could I ever have believed in a God who would give me desires for the sole purpose of requiring me to give them up in order to prove that I love him more than anything else?”

And yet I wasted years of my life listening to people who told me things like that, believing myself to be somehow deficient for not wanting to behave the way they told me I was supposed to behave. Years of keeping my mouth shut when I disagreed with someone, because it was so important to at least look like I fit in when even I felt like I didn’t. Why did that seem like the right course to me? Why didn’t I just go find someplace where I did fit in? Why, for the love of anything, didn’t I pay attention to how wrong all of that felt?

I cringe a little bit at the list of things I’ve let myself be talked out of, all because it’s too inconvenient/it’s not safe/it’s wrong/I’m a girl/the timing’s wrong/it’s too expensive/I’m too smart/somebody didn’t want me to do it. My parents, in particular, seemed to think I was some sort of faery creature who would wither and die if exposed to the wrong substance, or disappear without a trace if someone wasn’t watching me. Except that my parents aren’t all that into faery stories, so… a more mundane equivalent of what I just said. The thing is, in their efforts to keep me safe they told me “you can’t” so many times that after awhile I believed it.

This isn’t their fault. I’m not trying to say that it is. Like I said before, I do wish that I had reacted differently to many things in my life. I could have been more of a people person. I could have ignored the words “you can’t” and just done what I wanted anyway. Lots of people do that. I only did it periodically, and not usually with good results. In short, I could have lived a bit more, instead of playing out imaginary lives in my head. And I most certainly did not have to continue putting myself in situations that were comfortable just because they were familiar, even when I knew there was something wrong with them.

The thing about the words “you can’t” is that once you start to believe them, they become a mantra that you follow without even realizing it. “No,” becomes the automatic response to everything, because even if you can’t immediately think of a reason why you can’t do something, you’re sure there’s one lurking just out of sight that’s going to come and kick you in the head if you say “yes” instead. Fun ideas are quickly dismissed as crazy and impossible. In fact, you become so used to having everything just out of reach that you invent impossible situations for yourself. Soon you’re not sure if everything you want turns out to be out of reach, or if you only set your heart on the things you can’t get.

This morning I woke up with the same feeling of resignation to yet another day that I’ve had the past several mornings. I distracted myself for about half an hour with my morning writing goal, but once I’d met that, I was back to blah as usual. And then it occurred to me that I am so very sick of starting my days feeling like that. I don’t like lamenting the fact that I’m awake as soon as I become aware of it. All of this reflection about the past, and how I wish people had treated me differently, and how I wish I had made different choices… none of that is helpful. I can’t change the way I grew up. But, you know what? If I wake up most mornings feeling not in the least excited about my life and what I’m going to do with it that day, week, or month… I am doing life wrong. Right now.

That is something I can fix, even if I’m not quite sure how yet.

oh, customers :)

This is a story lovingly titled,

Your Drink Is Not the Only One We're Making

My first day back to work after vacation was a Tuesday. I'd forgotten how Tuesdays can get crazy sometimes... mostly because Tuesday is an odd day for that sort of thing. I mean really, why Tuesday? I wonder this a lot.

Anyway, there I am, getting back into barista mode, doing closing stuff, being on bar. I've got a couple drinks lined up to make. I look at the next one in line: a caramel macchiato. I get the milk steaming, pull a pair of espresso shots. I pick up the cup and pump the syrup into it.

"Oh," says the woman waiting at the end of the bar, "that's too much vanilla."

I turn to her. "Too much vanilla?" (I tend to repeat back most things people say to me in the workplace, partly because I have trouble hearing, and partly to get them to elaborate.)

"Yes, I only want two pumps of vanilla. That's way too much."

I look at the cup again. No specification on the amount of vanilla. "I'm sorry," I say by rote, going to the sink and dumping the syrup out of the cup. I figure she'll probably want to avoid this kind of confusion in the future, so I tell her, "A venti caramel macchiato usually comes with four, but you can always tell us how much you want at the register."

"But I asked for two pumps."

"You did? I'm sorry about that. I'll just make you one with two pumps."

"And I didn't ask for a venti. I wanted a grande."

"Oh, you did?" I pull a grande cup from the stack and put two pumps of vanilla in it, nodding occasionally as the customer tells me how four pumps of vanilla is just too sweet for her. By now the shots I pulled are dead. I pull new ones, pour the milk, add the shots, and grab the caramel sauce to finish with a drizzle.

"What's that?" the customer asks, sounding slightly alarmed and maybe even a little scandalized.

I pause. "Caramel sauce," I say, wondering how anyone could order a caramel macchiato and then be surprised at the addition of caramel.

"I didn't ask for a macchiato," she says quite firmly.

"You didn't?"

"No. I asked for an Americano."

I look over at the counter. Sitting there, next in line after the caramel macchiato, is a grande cup marked for an Americano with two pumps of vanilla.

"Ah," I say, dying a tiny bit inside because of the time I just wasted on a hectic night, "your drink is actually the next one in line. This one is for someone else."

"Oh!" She is clearly a little embarrassed. "I didn't realize there was anyone else waiting for a drink!"

No response entered my head that would not have gotten me into trouble. Silently, I remade the caramel macchiato in its proper size and proportion, and then made an Americano. With just two pumps of vanilla.

To coffeeshop customers everywhere: if you feel the need to micromanage the making of your drink, please do ask us which one we're making before we begin. It will save everyone a lot of time. :)

Nostalgia

Thoughts and confessions

return as before,

released from the glass

where the sun bleeds through.

So much is missing;

so much stays the same;

nothing replaces

the past left abandoned.

Things left behind -

and best left alone? -

revisited briefly,

as a last fond farewell.

plum lavender sorbet

I’m writing in my kitchen, with no internet connection, to post later. I decided to just go for what I really want: plum lavender sorbet.

I don’t have a recipe for this, but there’s a blueberry lavender gelato recipe in my book. I took the guidelines from there to prepare the lavender: two teaspoons steeping in two cups of hot water (instead of the milk it would be if I wanted to make gelato). After about fifteen minutes I’ll strain the lavender buds out and use the water and some sugar to make a lavender syrup. In the meantime, I’d better puree my plums and see how much volume I’m going to get out of them. None of the recipes in my book use plums at all, which leaves me at a bit of a loss to estimate the amount of sugar I should use to sweeten this sorbet. I’ll compare a few recipes and make a decision after I see how much puree I have.

Interesting; I’ve never cooked with lavender before. Apparently all (or most) of the purple bleeds out of the the buds when they’re steeped, leaving them a dull shade of green and tinging the water with purple. I haven’t finished cutting up the plums yet. I probably should have left some of them another day or two so they could ripen a bit more, but I was impatient. I’m sure they’re close enough.

Plum puree looks delicious. I was right to leave the skins in - the color is a lot richer than it probably would have been otherwise. Besides, plum skins have a lot of flavor. And, let me see… mmm, yes. Plum puree also tastes delicious. It’s pretty thick, too. And there’s lots of it. I didn’t need to buy this many plums. That’s ok, though; I’ll use some of it for this recipe and set the rest aside for another.

Yes, now that it’s strained I have enough plum puree for two recipes of this stuff. I’ve got the lavender syrup starting on the stove. Once it boils for just a minute, I’ll need to let it cool before I can combine it with the plums, and then let the whole thing chill for at least eight hours before putting it in the machine. Since I don’t intend to stay awake until 1 am, that means I’ll be finishing this in the morning before work.

It’s morning! I just poured the sorbet mix into the machine, set the timer for 25 minutes, and started it up. The last batch of sorbet I made was well frozen within that amount of time. It was also less sorbet, so we’ll see if it’s enough time for this batch. I have a couple containers chilling in the freezer so the finished sorbet won’t melt when I scoop it into them to store. And now it’s just time to wait.

Success! I love it, it tastes excellent! I can’t decide what to do with the rest of the plum puree! Should I make plum lavender gelato? Should I make just plain plum gelato? Is there another flavor I should try mixing the plum with? I’m too excited about the sorbet to decide! My favorite flavor from the Bent Spoon, recreated in my own kitchen through adapted recipes and guesswork. I feel triumphant. But next time I think I will wait for the plums to ripen a tiny bit more. And maybe also try adding a tiny bit of lemon juice to the puree. That seems to help maximize fruity flavors, and I know it helps apples keep their color, so maybe it would do that for plum puree as well. I want to start on my next project, but I don’t have time to cook a custard base before work. Especially when I haven’t decided if I want to use more lavender in it or not. I feel like I should do something to add to the flavor… I will brainstorm other options.

The Gelato Diaries

Dear Readers - I have acquired an ice cream maker, courtesy of my patroness, one Rachel Baum.

This is a quality, though small-scale, machine. My favorite feature so far is the built-in compressor freezer, which means that I don't have to pre-freeze a bowl before getting started. This in turn means I have much less hassle to bother with when I want to make ice cream. Also, there's more room in the freezer for the actual ice cream. A definite advantage.

I just got distracted for quite awhile on Amazon looking up more ice cream recipe books. Ahem.

Right now I'm getting tired and I want to go home, but later I'll tell you all about my first three batches: raspberry ice cream, strawberry ice cream, and raspberry-thyme sorbet. Thanks go to Rachel, without whom I would have no equipment for these projects; the cash fairy who visited my purse last week, without whom I would have stressed over buying the ingredients for these first attempts; and my manager, who donated some herbs and then fell into raptures after tasting the results, telling me I'd found my calling. :) Thanks everyone!

look, she's back

Dear world,

I am now living a life that is, in its barest frame, the one that I pictured a couple years ago when I first thought of moving away. As tends to happen in life, though, the intervening time has filled in the details that frame holds up, and life is in the details, isn't it? Let me share some of the things I have learned over the past two years.

1. There are some slights that you will never forget, even if they happened a long time ago and you thought you had forgotten them.
2. You have to forgive those things anyway, or else they'll shadow other parts of your life, and there's just no reason to let them.
3. Sometimes, in relationships (with anyone), you have to let go of small things to make it work. But small signs of big things should never be ignored.
4. Having the time to do things makes very little difference if you don't actually get up and do them.
5. Loneliness is not something you can run away from. Oddly enough, you end up still being lonely.
6. The people who love you are probably not going to be as quick to judge you as you fear.
7. Some of them (not all) will judge you anyway, even if they try not to let it show.
8. They still love you, and that's more important.

None of these are lessons perfectly learned, of course. They're in that category of things that need to be learned repeatedly throughout life. Still, they sum things up pretty well - and I'm working on them.

coffee and soup

I have never had such dry hands before in my life.

Don't get me wrong; it could be a lot worse. This is nowhere near as bad as either of the times eczema flared up on my hands. That was painful; this is just kinda weird. Before starting this job, I have never never had dry skin on my fingertips before. Unless calluses from playing guitar count. But that still feels different.

Excuse me while I go get lots and lots of lotion.

There, that's a start. I'll probably feel the need to apply more in about two minutes, but for now my hands feel much better. In other news, I love my job. :) It's going quite well, and I am slowly gaining a sense of stability that has been lacking in my life for about the past year.

My mother will be arriving in just a few hours, and instead of cleaning when I got home, I started cooking soup and making a bigger mess. And now that the soup is happily simmering, I am updating my blog instead of cleaning. Not that things are terribly messy around here, but a girl does like to be able to show her mother a neat home when she's living alone for the first time in her life.

Oh yeah, I'm also still looking for a new roommate. I'm growing unfortunately fond of having this place to myself, and I need to put a stop to that because I can't afford to keep it all to myself.

Well, I should probably straighten up at least a little bit before picking my mother up from the airport. A very happy mid-November to you all. :)

finally, some good news

Lately I have been enjoying the rare luxury of a few relatively stress-free days. The primary reason for this, without a doubt, is the fact that I am now officially employed by Starbucks! :) The number of areas in which my life has already improved, before I've even started the actual training, is ridiculous. Right now I'm staying up late to make "yay I work for sane people" cookies, following Andrew's famous chocolate chip recipe. It's safe to say I'm feeling pretty good.

Earlier today I was digging through my drawers looking for something to wear, and I suddenly remembered that I don't need to worry about saving nice enough things for fudge-selling events anymore. That realization was pleasing in a small, insignificant sort of way, especially compared to the other things I no longer have to worry about. For example, even though I wasn't on the work schedule for the past couple days, I don't have to worry about whether that means my boss doesn't like me anymore and doesn't intend to schedule me ever again. I don't have to worry that I won't be told if they decide I'm not wanted anymore. I will no longer show up when I'm asked to, only to find that no one is there and the door is locked, and wait an hour and a half only to finally be told to just go home. I will receive a schedule on a weekly basis, rather than being told the night before I'm supposed to work. I'm fairly certain that if I call my manager with a question about work, he'll return my call. I will no longer be paid as a contractor so that my bosses can practice some creative tax evasion. There is no need to worry about being fired for lodging a valid complaint. And best of all, I no longer have to work for people who tell me to my face how much they appreciate everything I do, and then tell malicious lies about me behind my back. So, all in all, I'd say this is a pretty good week.

After the job I finally get to quit, anything would seem fantastic, but I'd be pretty excited about working at Starbucks under any circumstances. I was so disappointed last winter when they went into a hiring freeze just as I applied to a couple dozen locations. I think I'm going to like being a barista very much, and Starbucks is a company I feel like I can be proud to be part of. My first real training shift is on Monday morning, and I am so incredibly excited. :)

On another note, it's almost time for another round of NaNoWriMo. Can I write 50,000 words in a month while also learning my way around a new job? We shall see...

books books books

I am exhausted - but a happy exhausted, because the first couple boxes of my books arrived!

:) :) :) :)

It's going to take quite awhile to get my entire collection over here from Jersey. Books, in case you were unaware, are heavy. And I own lots of them. My mother asked me which of my books she should send to me first, since it just isn't possible to send them all at once. I felt like she was asking me to pick my favorite children or something. I love my books, and I've missed them all! Even when I'm not reading them, it's just a comforting feeling to be surrounded by them.

In the end, I chose the Guilty Pleasures and the Crying Books. You know Guilty Pleasure books - they're the ones that aren't really all that great, but you just love them anyway even if you don't know one single other person who does. And yes, I do also have specific Crying Books. They're the ones with scenes that are sure to get me tearing up when I need a safe emotional outlet. I feel it's important to have stuff like that lying around so that my inevitable emotional buildup doesn't end up spilling out into the lives of everyone around me. You have to be careful with Crying Books, though - if you use the same ones too often, you get desensitized.

Well, then. Being exhausted as I am, I believe I will go and rest, and possibly read a bit about Herald-Mage Vanyel. (That one would be a Guilty Pleasure.) :)

videos and ideas

I've hit the "new post" button several times in the past couple weeks, but I always end up canceling because I'm not sure what to blog about. I'm still not sure, but I'm a little fed up with neglecting the poor blog. So, just for kicks, here's a video for your enjoyment. Don't forget to pause the music first.



I hope that works. I've never tried to embed a video on my blog before. Hey, who among you would read urban fantasy set at Rutgers? I've been bouncing random silly ideas around my brain, and so far that's the one with the most promise. (As in, it sounds like it would be the most fun for me at the moment.)

it is alive

Hi everyone. My life is crazy. Today's triumphs consist of the acquisition of internet and the assembly of a kitchen table. Slowly, I am building a home. :)

Anyway, now that I have internet maybe I'll find some time to post more frequently and relevantly. I'm still going to be incredibly busy for awhile, but I no longer have to schedule a few hours out of my day to make it worth taking my laptop someplace where I can find wifi.

All this moving related stuff has really been quite stressful, to tell you the truth. I think (or hope) that I am nearing the end of the major tasks, and then my new roommate and I will be able to really settle into our new home. (I'm sitting in the kitchen right now, and it's a disaster area with stuff half-unpacked. But there's a table in it now!)

So, I exist, I have internet, and I even sort of have a home. What I don't have is any clue what you guys would like to read about on here.

"People were always upset to hear someone like Alan casually saying things like 'easier prey.' "

It's unusual for me to have things I want to post on this blog and then not get around to it for awhile. More often when I don't post it's just because I can't think of anything to say. But I've been meaning to follow up on my post about The Demon's Lexicon by Sarah Rees Brennan, since now I've actually read it and I did say I would tell you how it was.

It did not disappoint, not even a little bit. It was such a fun read, clever and witty while being dark and kinda scary with a main character who was violently angry more often than anything else. As I understand it, one of the ideas Sarah had while writing this book was to actually get inside the head of that dangerous, mysteriously aloof, and devastatingly handsome character you see so often in fantasy novels. Well, she did that, and she did an excellent job of it. It was really interesting to sympathize with Nick while actually empathizing more with all the people around him, whom he just couldn't understand.

She also did a really good job of slowly tearing Nick's world apart. I saw some of the plot twists coming, but their delivery was perfect. Especially the big reveal at the end. That one I sort of half-guessed, but the way it came out - the last line of that chapter - it really was stunning. And it was bold, too. I was very impressed.

In short, The Demon's Lexicon wins. That title, by the way, is so much more clever than I realized at first. I'm definitely looking forward to the sequel.

Is it next June yet?

more upcoming publications! (or just one)

Do any of you know people who shy away from fantasy because of all those multi-volume epics that are just so freaking long? Are you perhaps one of those people? I have to admit that I personally love multi-volume epics, in spite of the wait between installments – if they’re written well. But they do get overwhelming sometimes, and it’s refreshing to come across a good standalone fantasy novel.

Warbreaker is the novel Brandon Sanderson was finishing the last few edits on when he was first contacted about finishing The Wheel of Time, and we are now finally approaching its scheduled release date. It won't come out until next week – but since Brandon Sanderson posted this book on his website as he was writing and revising it, I’ve already read it. So I can actually give you an informed recommendation! Aren’t you pleased?

The last version of Warbreaker available online lacks the final copyedit, but it’s complete enough for me to be able to say that Brandon Sanderson has definitely improved since the start of his published career. I’ve enjoyed every single book of his I’ve read (umm… that would be all of them), but you can really see the progress he’s made.

Let me just take a moment to comment on how pompous I feel talking like that, especially considering how far I have to go with my own writing, and the fact that I have yet to figure out how to piece together an entire book. But I’m trying to be as specific as I can about why I think Warbreaker is such an excellent book. After all, the whole point of recommending it is to get you to read it. :)

Anyway, much as I love Brandon Sanderson’s other books, there are some issues with them that I think Warbreaker improves on. The first thing I noticed about Elantris was that the writing was a little rough (understandable, since that was his first published novel). Eventually I got so caught up in the story that I stopped noticing the rough spots, but they were still there. Also, out of the three point of view characters, only one went through any kind of significant development.

Mistborn was better in terms of both writing and character development – and many other areas, too. Still, there were parts that felt a little awkwardly cobbled together. I think it still worked, and there were so many wonderful plot twists… it’s a great trilogy.

Now, Warbreaker… this is a book that brings all of its separate elements together into an amazing whole. There are four viewpoint characters in four different situations, each with their own problems and goals.

Siri is a princess of Idris, sent to marry the immortal and terrifyingly powerful God King of Hallandren. It’s a last-minute change to an arrangement that has been in place for years: Siri’s eldest sister, Vivenna, is the one who has prepared her whole life for this marriage.

Vivenna, feeling bereft of purpose and place, takes the first improper action of her life when she decides to go after Siri to Hallandren and save her little sister from the fate that should have been hers.

Lightsong is one of the Returned – immortals worshipped as deities in Hallandren. The problem is, he doesn’t believe in his own religion.

And then there’s Vasher. Vasher’s a loner. He doesn’t share his goals with anyone, let alone his plans. And he carries around this very strange, very scary sword.

I kind of love the exchanges between Vasher and this sentient weapon. They tend to go something like this:

NIGHTBLOOD: Let’s destroy evil!
VASHER: You don’t know what evil is.
NIGHTBLOOD: What about those guys over there? They look pretty evil to me.
VASHER: Shut up or I’ll put you back in the bag.
NIGHTBLOOD: No! I need fresh air! And sunshine!
VASHER: You are a sword.

The pieces of the story come together perfectly, and the whole they create is all the more impressive for having come at it from four different angles. The character development that was lacking in Elantris is very much present here, in all of the main characters. In fact, I think this book contains my favorite Brandon Sanderson character ever. The world is as full of depth as you would want in a longer epic. And Brandon Sanderson’s trademark of creating extraordinary, innovative magic in each of his books continues in this one.

Warbreaker is hitting bookstores on Tuesday, June 9, and I cannot wait to bring a copy home with me.

"Obviously this is the place to come if you want to get murdered by lunatics."

I am incredibly tired and need to go to sleep almost immediately, but I have something very important to tell you all.

It is June.

That means that tomorrow (ummm... today, rather) The Demon's Lexicon by Sarah Rees Brennan will finally be available at bookstores near everyone. I am a firm believer in supporting authors I particularly like, and while I haven't read any books by Sarah Rees Brennan in the past (that would be kind of difficult since this is actually her first published novel), I do read her LiveJournal constantly because on the rare occasions when it doesn't make me laugh out loud, it at least makes me smile a whole bunch. My eternal thanks to Poonam for directing me there however long ago that was. :)

Anyway. I'm too tired to say much more about the book at the moment, but I think I'll go buy it tomorrow. I've got time; I'm off work. I'll let you know how it turns out, shall I? I mean... I won't tell you how the book turns out; I'll just tell you how it is.

Like I said, tired.

I have high hopes for The Demon's Lexicon. I think it's going to be a very enjoyable read.

come and sing that song for me

Wow. This blog has been experiencing some serious inactivity. Sometimes I don't know what to write about; other times I get busy; other times the only issues in my life are not ones suitable to post about publicly. But there must be something to talk about, right? If nothing else I can't let the entire month of May go by without a single post.

So, I've been working for about a month now, which is very good because I find that paychecks are a necessary part of life. I should get my second one very soon! *beams with pride*

I figured that working for the fudge shop would be very different from my last job, and it is. For one thing, there is more fudge involved, and less books and seminars. That makes the tiny similarities stand out oddly in my mind. One day early in the month I was answering the phone a few times and thinking how the only difference in my words was the company name. Immediately I began to fear that I would slip up next time and say the wrong name, just because I thought it. Thankfully this has not happened yet.

Those of you sitting within reach of wood, would you care to hit it for me a couple times? Thanks awfully. :)

Something else happened in my first week of work that made me think of my last job.

COWORKER: Let's have some music in here. Ruthann, do you want to put on your iPod?
RUTHANN: ...Wow. Serious deja vu. Sure thing, what would you like to listen to?
COWORKER: Oh, I don't know. Something nice. You decide.
RUTHANN: And again with the deja vu!

It seems that certain parts of my life will never change. Or at least they haven't yet.

Also, sometime in the next month I will finally be moving into a place of my own, with a roommate arriving in the beginning of July. :) :) I'll have to send everyone new address information once I'm actually there. I cannot wait for boxes of my lovely books to arrive in Portland! I have missed them so! I must prepare shelves for them. And while I'm at it, maybe I should find a bed, and some other furniture. I hear those are useful.

I'm going to have a home!

my four walls transformed

A few things:

First, Holly Black rocks my socks. I didn't think I was a very big fan of urban fantasy until I read Tithe, Valiant, and Ironside, all modern treatments of Faerie set in the wonderfully familiar tri-state area. (I actually read Ironside first, but the above order is the correct one.) They are dark, and real, and rough, and they're about Jersey teens getting mixed up with dangerous faeries. (Well, "dangerous" pretty much describes all faeries, in fact.) You definitely don't have to have Jersey roots to enjoy them (I first heard of them on the blog of an Irish writer who adored them), but I did like that extra sense of familiarity. Like in Valiant - the main character, Val, pulled out NJ Transit tickets she'd been carrying around for weeks, and I remembered that I actually still have a ticket between New Brunswick and Hamilton in my wallet.

Anyway, loved these books. They're full of compelling characters who do so many things wrong but you're rooting for them anyway. Valiant did an especially good job of combining the dangers of living on the streets in New York with the dangers of dealing with the realm of Faerie. You've got dysfunctional families, deception, deals with faerie courts, serious drug addiction, and (dare I say it?) a hot troll, all right there in the same book. I finished it last night, and the ending was amazing.

Second, John Brown has interesting things to say about writing groups and reader feedback in general. I've never read any of his work, but I follow his blog because it frequently contains helpful insights about writing. This particular post, in case you don't feel like following the link, talks about how important it is to get feedback based on effect, not a catalog of problems or suggested fixes. He also makes a point about how it can be counterproductive to give the same group of people multiple revisions of things they've already read, because (and I'm paraphrasing here) with each reading they'll become more desensitized to the effect of the work and just notice the mechanics more and more. This makes me question the wisdom of allowing my group of alpha readers to include pretty much everyone who expresses serious interest in reading drafts of my story. But I suppose there are other things I should worry about before that detail - like actually finishing the story.

Third, you guys all lose at the comments game. (Although some of you gave me comments personally and I appreciate that.) And there was so much to argue about in that post... *sigh*. The debates we could have had on the validity of the examples, or the definitions of love and evil... and of everyone who read that post or heard me talk about it, only my mother bothered to try calling me out on the moral problems with portraying love and evil as compatible, as I suggested I might do someday. Of course, I still intend to do it. And I will infer from general comment silence that no one has any examples for me of love and evil coexisting. Right? I mean, you guys wouldn't hold those back if you had them, would you?