I don't feel any different.
On Saturday, I was informed that I (along with several other writers from my company) was being honored by the New England Newspaper and Press Association for our coverage in the aftermath of the devastating June 1 tornado. (Let us not get into the fact that I didn't find out about said honor until the day of the ceremony and thus was unable to attend due to a previous commitment, but I digress.)
All I remember of work from that period of time was that I was a bundle of nerves; worried for my town and my friends who were affected, worried for the newspaper that would be responsible for covering said destruction, and worried about my own newspaper, which despite the fact that I was asked to cover another community, still had to go to press on its normal deadline...with at least a few bylines from yours truly.
I cried a lot in those days; it was exhausting work. I wrote a column about my personal tornado experience that ran in several of our publications, not necessarily because I was required to do so, but because I needed to express myself in some way, and writing that piece seemed like the easiest way to do it. I wasn't personally affected (unless you count some surface damage to my car from corresponding hail), but I was affected in the sense that I was a member of the community that suffered a huge loss. It's difficult being a journalist and having to take a step back from what's so intensely personal to be an impartial observer.
Now, eight months later, I can breathe a little easier, especially in light of the fact that our hard work and dedication was actually recognized.
I'm officially an award-winning journalist. After years of slaving away, chasing all manner of calamity and destruction in the name of news... I am one of the elite.
So why don't I feel any different, dammit?
For a brief moment, I was on Cloud Nine... then reality hit and I realized I needed to put together another edition of my paper and, despite having been honored as a hardworking journalist, I had to actually, you know, BE a hardworking journalist.
Sigh. No rest for the weary, I guess.
On second thought, perhaps I do feel differently. Now, unlike before, I have something to live up to.
And surpass...
Oh crap.
Somebody, for the love of all that is holy, do something newsworthy so I can get to work!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
It's been awhile
The more I write, the less I want to write.
It's been awhile since I've written anything here, but not for lack of trying. I just don't seem to have the wherewithal to write anything for myself once I satisfy my professional writing requirements. Truth be told: I'm sick of having to think... and type.
That's not to say that I don't have ideas free-floating in my mind; I just haven't felt like sitting down and actually fleshing anything out.
I'm such a bad writer.
Perhaps my saving grace here is that I've been reading a great deal more than usual. If reading is the barometer by which I measure my happiness in life (the more I read, the happier I am, usually), then I must be positively gleeful these days. The good thing about that is when I read voraciously, it usually helps my writing. Professionally that's a good thing. Personally, not so much.
It's been awhile since I've written anything here, but not for lack of trying. I just don't seem to have the wherewithal to write anything for myself once I satisfy my professional writing requirements. Truth be told: I'm sick of having to think... and type.
That's not to say that I don't have ideas free-floating in my mind; I just haven't felt like sitting down and actually fleshing anything out.
I'm such a bad writer.
Perhaps my saving grace here is that I've been reading a great deal more than usual. If reading is the barometer by which I measure my happiness in life (the more I read, the happier I am, usually), then I must be positively gleeful these days. The good thing about that is when I read voraciously, it usually helps my writing. Professionally that's a good thing. Personally, not so much.
Friday, November 18, 2011
The thin pink line...
"Are you pregnant?"
It's a running joke with my friends. Any time I come into work complaining of exhaustion or nausea or use my super sensitive olfactory senses to discriminate scents wafting throughout the newsroom (usually some sort of garlic/pasta concoction), my friends always ask the same pointed question: "Are you pregnant?"
One of these days, the answer is going to be yes.
Today, however, it's not. While I may eat like I'm expecting, I can assure you, I'm not...
I'm just rundown.
I don't know to what I can contribute this feeling, but lately it's as though the life is being sucked out of me. I barely have the energy to blink, never mind to get out of bed and be a productive member of society. Caffeine hasn't helped to combat it either; it just makes me more of a jittery, frazzled mess.
This may have something to do with the fact that I haven't been eating as healthy as I was pre-weeklong power outage. Perhaps this is some sort of iron (or vitamin/mineral) deficiency? Or maybe the processed sugar I've been eating has been making me feel ill?
Whatever it is, I hope it's something I can control.
Otherwise, I'll cross that thin pink line when I come to it...
It's a running joke with my friends. Any time I come into work complaining of exhaustion or nausea or use my super sensitive olfactory senses to discriminate scents wafting throughout the newsroom (usually some sort of garlic/pasta concoction), my friends always ask the same pointed question: "Are you pregnant?"
One of these days, the answer is going to be yes.
Today, however, it's not. While I may eat like I'm expecting, I can assure you, I'm not...
I'm just rundown.
I don't know to what I can contribute this feeling, but lately it's as though the life is being sucked out of me. I barely have the energy to blink, never mind to get out of bed and be a productive member of society. Caffeine hasn't helped to combat it either; it just makes me more of a jittery, frazzled mess.
This may have something to do with the fact that I haven't been eating as healthy as I was pre-weeklong power outage. Perhaps this is some sort of iron (or vitamin/mineral) deficiency? Or maybe the processed sugar I've been eating has been making me feel ill?
Whatever it is, I hope it's something I can control.
Otherwise, I'll cross that thin pink line when I come to it...
Friday, November 4, 2011
Living off the grid
Six days into living like a refugee and we still have no estimates as to when our power will return. On the one hand, I want to break down and cry. On the other hand, I've fallen into a sort of routine "living" at my friend E.'s and I don't feel a pressing need for power to return except that I miss spending time in the comfort of my apartment.
Tomorrow will be one full week since our power went out and still, my street looks like a war zone. About 1/2 mile away from my house, is a utility pole (with an attached streetlight) that is resting precariously on a chain link fence and power lines, and it's easy to see why I hold out absolutely zero hope that I'll be restored any time soon.
If there's a silver lining to this whole experience, it's that I'm learning who truly matters in my life and who doesn't. I have a few friends on whom I've been checking since this started and have had a few others who check in with me on a daily basis. Although I'm frustrated with this whole experience, I am truly thankful for the daily message from one friend in particular. It's nice to know that there's at least one person out there (who's not a relation) who legitimately cares about my well-being. It's the one thing that is keeping me from feeling truly miserable these days.
Tomorrow will be one full week since our power went out and still, my street looks like a war zone. About 1/2 mile away from my house, is a utility pole (with an attached streetlight) that is resting precariously on a chain link fence and power lines, and it's easy to see why I hold out absolutely zero hope that I'll be restored any time soon.
If there's a silver lining to this whole experience, it's that I'm learning who truly matters in my life and who doesn't. I have a few friends on whom I've been checking since this started and have had a few others who check in with me on a daily basis. Although I'm frustrated with this whole experience, I am truly thankful for the daily message from one friend in particular. It's nice to know that there's at least one person out there (who's not a relation) who legitimately cares about my well-being. It's the one thing that is keeping me from feeling truly miserable these days.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Power outage: Day 5
Has it been five days already? I'm losing track of time. I suppose that's to be expected when you don't have electricity to keep glancing at the clock.
Some of the things I keep hearing people say throughout this debacle is: "Who cares if you don't have power?" "It's just a little speed bump on the road of life." Or my favorite, "This is a minor inconvenience." It was a minor inconvenience three or four days ago. Today, it's approaching ridiculous.
When you suffer from an "inconvenience" such as this, more often than not, you fall back on the generosity of your family to help you out, right? What do you do when that's not an option?
If my parents lived closeby, I'd think nothing of showing up — unannounced — at their house to seek shelter from the icebox that my apartment has become, but that's not an option for me. And I'm not close enough with my extended family members to expect them to open their homes for me (that is, if they even have power!) My problem is that I'm more or less alone out here, fending for myself. And while normally, I thrive on the idea of independence, after five days of eating next to nothing (except at lunchtime or the occasional peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner), and sleeping in a room with temperatures so cold hypothermia is a legitimate possibility, I don't view this as a minor inconvenience. To me, this is downright dangerous.
So far, I've heard of two people (and two dogs) who have died in my town from carbon monoxide poisoning because in lieu of electricity, they were heating their home with a propane heater of sorts. Despite the fact that I know better, I briefly considered going to sleep with a candle (or two) burning to at least keep some semblance of warmth overnight. I didn't, but who's to say other people haven't? Desperate times call for desperate measures and often, desperate measures can have disastrous outcomes. If people are dying (or at the very least, succumbing to illness) while the power restoration efforts are under way, who is going to be held accountable?
Residents have a right to be upset that the utility crews have been operating slowly. I'm no longer willing to cut utility workers any slack; this is their job, after all. Plus, it's not like customers will receive a rebate for the extended power outage nor will the electric company pay for hotel rooms for those customers who need to vacate their homes due to the lack of heat.
Yesterday, I arrived home from work to find four National Grid trucks in front of my house. At the time, I assumed the work crews work doing their job and that our power would be restored that day, but as of this morning, our electricity still wasn't on. How is that, in any way, acceptable?
Those utility crews may be working around the clock and under stressful conditions, but worrying about where you're going to lay your head at night is just as stressful.
It's a strange thing to have a home and yet still be homeless.
Some of the things I keep hearing people say throughout this debacle is: "Who cares if you don't have power?" "It's just a little speed bump on the road of life." Or my favorite, "This is a minor inconvenience." It was a minor inconvenience three or four days ago. Today, it's approaching ridiculous.
When you suffer from an "inconvenience" such as this, more often than not, you fall back on the generosity of your family to help you out, right? What do you do when that's not an option?
If my parents lived closeby, I'd think nothing of showing up — unannounced — at their house to seek shelter from the icebox that my apartment has become, but that's not an option for me. And I'm not close enough with my extended family members to expect them to open their homes for me (that is, if they even have power!) My problem is that I'm more or less alone out here, fending for myself. And while normally, I thrive on the idea of independence, after five days of eating next to nothing (except at lunchtime or the occasional peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner), and sleeping in a room with temperatures so cold hypothermia is a legitimate possibility, I don't view this as a minor inconvenience. To me, this is downright dangerous.
So far, I've heard of two people (and two dogs) who have died in my town from carbon monoxide poisoning because in lieu of electricity, they were heating their home with a propane heater of sorts. Despite the fact that I know better, I briefly considered going to sleep with a candle (or two) burning to at least keep some semblance of warmth overnight. I didn't, but who's to say other people haven't? Desperate times call for desperate measures and often, desperate measures can have disastrous outcomes. If people are dying (or at the very least, succumbing to illness) while the power restoration efforts are under way, who is going to be held accountable?
Residents have a right to be upset that the utility crews have been operating slowly. I'm no longer willing to cut utility workers any slack; this is their job, after all. Plus, it's not like customers will receive a rebate for the extended power outage nor will the electric company pay for hotel rooms for those customers who need to vacate their homes due to the lack of heat.
Yesterday, I arrived home from work to find four National Grid trucks in front of my house. At the time, I assumed the work crews work doing their job and that our power would be restored that day, but as of this morning, our electricity still wasn't on. How is that, in any way, acceptable?
Those utility crews may be working around the clock and under stressful conditions, but worrying about where you're going to lay your head at night is just as stressful.
It's a strange thing to have a home and yet still be homeless.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Power outage: Day 4
The last few days have been trying, to say the least.
Following Saturday's freak October snowstorm, which brought nearly a foot of snow to Western Mass, we lost power due to the damage from fallen trees/wires. From what I've heard, every one of the 144 streets in my small town suffered significant tree damage and today — roughly four days since the power went out — we still haven't been restored.
At first, it was fun to "rough it" at home...I'm all about being independent, after all. But without basic amenities such as hot water or heat, it's a challenge to live comfortably with overnight temperatures plummeting to below the freezing mark. I managed to make it three days in my apartment before the cold finally got to me and I sought shelter with a friend from work instead.
The worst part of this whole experience isn't necessarily the power loss; it's actually forced me to read more and spend more time at my office than I ordinarily would so in that respect, it hasn't been all bad. But I still feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness, and I'm having a difficult time coping with that. Being alone and being lonely are two different things, you see. I relish the idea of being alone, but I hate feeling lonely. Being a prisoner in my own apartment —with nothing but candles/flashlights to light my way and without TV or radio to keep me company — I started to sink into a depression I haven't experienced since one particularly bad breakup two years ago, and at least then I had the luxury of heat when I spent my days with the blinds/curtains drawn and in bed.
For the first time in the nearly six years that I've lived in western Mass, I regret my decision to move so far away from my family. Mom and dad have power at their house and have invited me to stay with them, but in order to do so I'd have to take time off work. I've tried communicating with my executive editor about the possibility of jumping ship and heading home to my family, but I haven't been given the go ahead yet.
Instead, I abandoned my apartment in favor of my friend's which, though not fully-restored with electricity, is being powered by a generator. At the very least, I was able to take a hot shower — my first in four days! It was glorious, but I hate the feeling of being homeless, given I have a home; I don't like to impose on others.
I guess I'll just accept this for what it is: a life lesson: To appreciate those people who love you enough to check in on you, and to not take for granted the creature comforts we've all come to expect in our day to day life. Like flipping a power switch, we can loose it all in a flash.
Following Saturday's freak October snowstorm, which brought nearly a foot of snow to Western Mass, we lost power due to the damage from fallen trees/wires. From what I've heard, every one of the 144 streets in my small town suffered significant tree damage and today — roughly four days since the power went out — we still haven't been restored.
At first, it was fun to "rough it" at home...I'm all about being independent, after all. But without basic amenities such as hot water or heat, it's a challenge to live comfortably with overnight temperatures plummeting to below the freezing mark. I managed to make it three days in my apartment before the cold finally got to me and I sought shelter with a friend from work instead.
The worst part of this whole experience isn't necessarily the power loss; it's actually forced me to read more and spend more time at my office than I ordinarily would so in that respect, it hasn't been all bad. But I still feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness, and I'm having a difficult time coping with that. Being alone and being lonely are two different things, you see. I relish the idea of being alone, but I hate feeling lonely. Being a prisoner in my own apartment —with nothing but candles/flashlights to light my way and without TV or radio to keep me company — I started to sink into a depression I haven't experienced since one particularly bad breakup two years ago, and at least then I had the luxury of heat when I spent my days with the blinds/curtains drawn and in bed.
For the first time in the nearly six years that I've lived in western Mass, I regret my decision to move so far away from my family. Mom and dad have power at their house and have invited me to stay with them, but in order to do so I'd have to take time off work. I've tried communicating with my executive editor about the possibility of jumping ship and heading home to my family, but I haven't been given the go ahead yet.
Instead, I abandoned my apartment in favor of my friend's which, though not fully-restored with electricity, is being powered by a generator. At the very least, I was able to take a hot shower — my first in four days! It was glorious, but I hate the feeling of being homeless, given I have a home; I don't like to impose on others.
I guess I'll just accept this for what it is: a life lesson: To appreciate those people who love you enough to check in on you, and to not take for granted the creature comforts we've all come to expect in our day to day life. Like flipping a power switch, we can loose it all in a flash.
Friday, October 28, 2011
A collector's collectibles...
Anyone who walks into my apartment will notice a few things right off the bat: I have a lot of books, a lot of plants and a lot of — frogs? Yes, it's true. Since I was about five years old, I've amassed a pretty sizable collection of amphibians, including stuffed animals, candle holders, wind chimes, soap dispensers, book marks, and more. I think the obsession started when I was little and Santa Claus bestowed upon me a tadpole.... His name was Kermit and he eventually grew into an African Water Frog, almost three inches in length.
In recent weeks, however, I've started a new collection (and thus developed a new obsession): giraffes. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why I'm so enamored with these creatures...they are pretty tall. And given my small stature, it's only natural I should be drawn to something so impressively large, but I digress.
It started with a candle holder that I ordered at one of those home shows that are all the rage lately. Think Lia Sophia, but with candles. I spotted the giraffe in the catalog and just had to have it. And when I moved into my new apartment a few weeks ago (with its gloriously bare walls and their endless possibilities), I wanted to come up with some unique, creative ways to fill in the blanks, so to speak. To that end, I visited a local flea market where I found a beautiful wooden magazine rack for my living room, a few iron candle holders, a shelf to display items, a Galileo thermometer (which isn't a thermometer at all, but a barometer) and a wood-carved giraffe. Yesterday, I made another trip to the flea market where I spotted a giraffe print painted on glass with a linen backing. Although I fell in love with it, I decide against buying it... until an hour later when my friend K. texted me a photo of the exact same painting. That, to me, was as good a sign as any that I needed that giraffe, and I braved the cold rain to get it.
Following our jaunt through the flea market, I followed K. to an antique co-op down the street from my house where her father used to have a display before opening his own shop in the next town over. I've lived in this area for six years and not once have I set foot in that place. I didn't get to take a close look around because we arrived just 15 minutes before the store closed, but I have every intention of going back.
The thing about flea markets and antique shops, I'm realizing, is that they have everything you could ever possibly hope to find. One of my friends collects vintage Coca-Cola items and now, wherever I go, I'm on the lookout for something he might be interested in...I feverishly text him photos of my finds with whatever relevant information I can find on them, although usually I find reproductions and he's looking for authentic items. Both K. and my aunt collect owls (which seems like an easier collection than giraffes because I've found hundreds of owls to my two giraffes), so whenever I spot them I have to resist the urge to purchase them for one or the other. I've spent countless hours among the piles of items for sale, searching for that one special piece and have opened my eyes to the treasure trove of shops we have here in Western Massachusetts. It's daunting and exciting at the same time.
At this point in my quest, I'm looking specifically for giraffe-related items (which, believe me, are not as easy to find as one might think), but I'm open to other things...Frogs or books, for instance. Anything to make my new apartment more like a home.
In recent weeks, however, I've started a new collection (and thus developed a new obsession): giraffes. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why I'm so enamored with these creatures...they are pretty tall. And given my small stature, it's only natural I should be drawn to something so impressively large, but I digress.
It started with a candle holder that I ordered at one of those home shows that are all the rage lately. Think Lia Sophia, but with candles. I spotted the giraffe in the catalog and just had to have it. And when I moved into my new apartment a few weeks ago (with its gloriously bare walls and their endless possibilities), I wanted to come up with some unique, creative ways to fill in the blanks, so to speak. To that end, I visited a local flea market where I found a beautiful wooden magazine rack for my living room, a few iron candle holders, a shelf to display items, a Galileo thermometer (which isn't a thermometer at all, but a barometer) and a wood-carved giraffe. Yesterday, I made another trip to the flea market where I spotted a giraffe print painted on glass with a linen backing. Although I fell in love with it, I decide against buying it... until an hour later when my friend K. texted me a photo of the exact same painting. That, to me, was as good a sign as any that I needed that giraffe, and I braved the cold rain to get it.
Following our jaunt through the flea market, I followed K. to an antique co-op down the street from my house where her father used to have a display before opening his own shop in the next town over. I've lived in this area for six years and not once have I set foot in that place. I didn't get to take a close look around because we arrived just 15 minutes before the store closed, but I have every intention of going back.
The thing about flea markets and antique shops, I'm realizing, is that they have everything you could ever possibly hope to find. One of my friends collects vintage Coca-Cola items and now, wherever I go, I'm on the lookout for something he might be interested in...I feverishly text him photos of my finds with whatever relevant information I can find on them, although usually I find reproductions and he's looking for authentic items. Both K. and my aunt collect owls (which seems like an easier collection than giraffes because I've found hundreds of owls to my two giraffes), so whenever I spot them I have to resist the urge to purchase them for one or the other. I've spent countless hours among the piles of items for sale, searching for that one special piece and have opened my eyes to the treasure trove of shops we have here in Western Massachusetts. It's daunting and exciting at the same time.
At this point in my quest, I'm looking specifically for giraffe-related items (which, believe me, are not as easy to find as one might think), but I'm open to other things...Frogs or books, for instance. Anything to make my new apartment more like a home.
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