I've been home for 24 hours and all hell has broken loose — between the cats.
Before I'd even managed to lug my belongings in from my car, my mom had pulled Oreo out of his carrier and was walking through the house cradling him to her chest, whispering how much she missed him. Because he is her cat, she reminded me almost immediately. She'll be taking him back at some point and Sylvester will come home with me. Sure Mom, whatever you say.
Within minutes of bringing Oreo upstairs to see Sylvester, the fur started flying — literally — as the monstrous Maine coon flew around the room in search of a hiding spot, furballs swirling in his wake. As Oreo tentatively approached, Sylvester flattened his ears and began a deep, guttural growl I've never heard before before moving on to a full-out hiss. (Wait a second, cats growl?!) Then, to my surprise, Oreo — my sweet, loveable, tuxedo kitten — started his own growl/hiss. Before anyone was injured, I scooped Oreo in my arms and whisked him to the relative safety of my brother's room where he'll likely remain for the duration of my "vacation." What fun.
As I write this, I can hear him skulking around upstairs, jumping from the bed to the floor to the bureau, poking around in his food dish for any morsels he may have missed during lunch. Listening to him padding around the linoleum floor, I feel slightly guilty for leaving him on his own. This is not an independent cat; he thinks he's a dog and he demands attention like it's going out of style.
Thump. Thump. Crash.
I'd better get up there before he knocks over another lamp.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
To do
I am neurotic. There, I've said it. Are you happy? I like order and control and if I don't have any (of one or both), it tends to drive me a little....crazy.
In anticipation of leaving work/my apartment to head back to my childhood home for a week, I've spent the last few days planning what to bring (and what not to bring) and making lists of things that need to be packed in advance as well as the day I leave, and the various chores I need to have completed before vacating my apartment for a week. Whew! I lose my breath just thinking about it. You see? It's madness, I tell you.
My to-do list has grown exponentially these last few days and while I've been gleefully crossing items off in my quest to have complete and total control over every aspect of the packing process, I've also been adding items (two things to do for every one thing I cross off, it seems). It's morphing into something beyond my control and it's driving me insane. It is especially nerve-wracking today since I am supposed to leave in a few short hours and I feel like there is still so much to do.
Part of the problem is that I need to call my landlord to come in while I'm gone to fix my bathroom sink (and possibly the tile on the bathroom floor), which means I need to erase all evidence of contraband from my humble little abode. No, I'm not talking about drugs here, I'm referring to my cat, Oreo. Kitty toys have already been hidden, my rug has already been vacuumed (several times in fact) to eradicate any excess kitty litter/hairballs, the food/water dishes will be packed along with his litter box, all pictures of him (and all other felines) have been removed. If you didn't know any better and you came into my place, you'd never know there was a cat in there... I hope. All is neat and tidy, even my bathroom, which I scrubbed with vigor last night.
But now that I'm all set to go, I've got mixed feelings about leaving. In the past, I've always left here to escape being lonely but now that I've got a life here and people I enjoy spending time with, I can't help but feel like I'm going to be missing out on all the fun with my friends.
*sigh*
I suppose once I leave and settle in at my parents, I'll be happy to be gone and the week will fly by way too fast, right?
That said, I'm still sure I'll miss home.
In anticipation of leaving work/my apartment to head back to my childhood home for a week, I've spent the last few days planning what to bring (and what not to bring) and making lists of things that need to be packed in advance as well as the day I leave, and the various chores I need to have completed before vacating my apartment for a week. Whew! I lose my breath just thinking about it. You see? It's madness, I tell you.
My to-do list has grown exponentially these last few days and while I've been gleefully crossing items off in my quest to have complete and total control over every aspect of the packing process, I've also been adding items (two things to do for every one thing I cross off, it seems). It's morphing into something beyond my control and it's driving me insane. It is especially nerve-wracking today since I am supposed to leave in a few short hours and I feel like there is still so much to do.
Part of the problem is that I need to call my landlord to come in while I'm gone to fix my bathroom sink (and possibly the tile on the bathroom floor), which means I need to erase all evidence of contraband from my humble little abode. No, I'm not talking about drugs here, I'm referring to my cat, Oreo. Kitty toys have already been hidden, my rug has already been vacuumed (several times in fact) to eradicate any excess kitty litter/hairballs, the food/water dishes will be packed along with his litter box, all pictures of him (and all other felines) have been removed. If you didn't know any better and you came into my place, you'd never know there was a cat in there... I hope. All is neat and tidy, even my bathroom, which I scrubbed with vigor last night.
But now that I'm all set to go, I've got mixed feelings about leaving. In the past, I've always left here to escape being lonely but now that I've got a life here and people I enjoy spending time with, I can't help but feel like I'm going to be missing out on all the fun with my friends.
*sigh*
I suppose once I leave and settle in at my parents, I'll be happy to be gone and the week will fly by way too fast, right?
That said, I'm still sure I'll miss home.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
The great escape
It's been almost a year since I took any substantial period of time off work.
The last time I took a vacation was December when my then-boyfriend and I were in the midst of a (brutal) break-up and I did the only think I could think of to do at that time: packed up my belongings and ran home with my tail between my legs to seek comfort from my parents. It's almost hard to acknowledge that as a vacation, in retrospect.
While it's true that I'll only be heading back home to spend the week with my family next week, this time I'll be reading, relaxing and recharging my batteries. It's a much-needed, well-deserved break from life in Monson. As much as I love it here, I can't wait to escape.
Last night I went to the Monson town meeting and despite the fact that I was covering it for work, I found I actually enjoyed myself. (That right there is an indication that I am in desperate need of a vacation.) It was fun listening to the different points-of-view from people I've come to know very well during my four years here. Having an understanding of who these people are definitely adds a certain (entertaining) element to town meeting, that's for sure. But while I was sitting there, absorbing life in what has become my favorite small town, I felt a longing for familiarity; for what used to be home.
Dracut has a certain attraction for me. I once made the excursion cross-state (more than three hours round trip) just to get a Tiramisu from my favorite Italian restaurant, Mamas. I've ventured back home and spent hours watching the cows graze at Shaw Farm or lost amid the stacks of books at The Book Rack. And one of my good friends from high school has opened a bakery in town that I've been dying to visit for at least three months. I'm looking forward to going back and enjoying all those things that I took for granted while I lived there.
Over the last four years, I've come to regard Monson as being home, but it will never quite replace Dracut; I will always compare the two in my mind. It's great living a life of my own away from my parents and struggling to survive and all, but sometimes a girl just wants to give up the good fight and take a breather. Certainly, I'll appreciate my life here after spending a week or so there. I'll miss my friends and the comfort of my apartment, but that will just make vacation all the more worthwhile.
The last time I took a vacation was December when my then-boyfriend and I were in the midst of a (brutal) break-up and I did the only think I could think of to do at that time: packed up my belongings and ran home with my tail between my legs to seek comfort from my parents. It's almost hard to acknowledge that as a vacation, in retrospect.
While it's true that I'll only be heading back home to spend the week with my family next week, this time I'll be reading, relaxing and recharging my batteries. It's a much-needed, well-deserved break from life in Monson. As much as I love it here, I can't wait to escape.
Last night I went to the Monson town meeting and despite the fact that I was covering it for work, I found I actually enjoyed myself. (That right there is an indication that I am in desperate need of a vacation.) It was fun listening to the different points-of-view from people I've come to know very well during my four years here. Having an understanding of who these people are definitely adds a certain (entertaining) element to town meeting, that's for sure. But while I was sitting there, absorbing life in what has become my favorite small town, I felt a longing for familiarity; for what used to be home.
Dracut has a certain attraction for me. I once made the excursion cross-state (more than three hours round trip) just to get a Tiramisu from my favorite Italian restaurant, Mamas. I've ventured back home and spent hours watching the cows graze at Shaw Farm or lost amid the stacks of books at The Book Rack. And one of my good friends from high school has opened a bakery in town that I've been dying to visit for at least three months. I'm looking forward to going back and enjoying all those things that I took for granted while I lived there.
Over the last four years, I've come to regard Monson as being home, but it will never quite replace Dracut; I will always compare the two in my mind. It's great living a life of my own away from my parents and struggling to survive and all, but sometimes a girl just wants to give up the good fight and take a breather. Certainly, I'll appreciate my life here after spending a week or so there. I'll miss my friends and the comfort of my apartment, but that will just make vacation all the more worthwhile.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The list
My life is an open book...literally. Chances are, if you play even a minor part in my life, you'll one day appear in my memoirs, "It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time." Just saying...
I have been hanging my hat on the above notion lately. I am the queen of bad decisions. I can't help it; I love trouble, apparently. And the older I get, the more stupid mistakes I make. I thought you were supposed to get wiser with age? I notice I've been getting less cautious and more brazen. One day, I have a feeling my tendency to act on impulse is going to get me into trouble (big trouble in at least one case, possibly two), but... it makes life more interesting and I've taken on an "I'm not going to die wondering" approach to life these days. So far, I have to admit I kinda like it. Love it, in fact.
The other day I was scanning my bookcases for something to read when I stumbled on 2,001 Things to Do Before You Die. I perused the list (some of the ideas were too far out there, even for me) and decided I wanted to come up with my own "To Do" list, although not quite as extensive. I figure if nothing else, attaining some crazy life goals would help me along with the book-writing process...
For now, I'll start with this but don't worry, I'll create a more detailed, personal list later. Stay tuned!
I have been hanging my hat on the above notion lately. I am the queen of bad decisions. I can't help it; I love trouble, apparently. And the older I get, the more stupid mistakes I make. I thought you were supposed to get wiser with age? I notice I've been getting less cautious and more brazen. One day, I have a feeling my tendency to act on impulse is going to get me into trouble (big trouble in at least one case, possibly two), but... it makes life more interesting and I've taken on an "I'm not going to die wondering" approach to life these days. So far, I have to admit I kinda like it. Love it, in fact.
The other day I was scanning my bookcases for something to read when I stumbled on 2,001 Things to Do Before You Die. I perused the list (some of the ideas were too far out there, even for me) and decided I wanted to come up with my own "To Do" list, although not quite as extensive. I figure if nothing else, attaining some crazy life goals would help me along with the book-writing process...
For now, I'll start with this but don't worry, I'll create a more detailed, personal list later. Stay tuned!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Abandon ship
I've just got to come out and say it... I'm getting really irritated with Verizon's text delays lately. I'm getting ready to switch back to AT&T so I can get an iPhone 4. Don't get me wrong, I love my BlackBerry, but if there's anything I've learned about myself throughout the years, it's that I'm fickle and, well, I always want what I can't have... which at this very minute is an iPhone, and working wireless service.
For at least the last five or six days (yep, it's been going on so long that I've lost track), my text reception has been sporadic at best. I feel bad for those people I text frequently; brevity isn't my strong suit and they end up getting a back log of long-winded, convoluted messages. In retrospect, I laugh, but when I'm trying to have a conversation with someone and neither of our messages can get through, I get all red in the face and ready to toss my beloved phone out of my second-story bedroom window. Right onto the bulkhead. That will teach it for not doing what I want.
For at least the last five or six days (yep, it's been going on so long that I've lost track), my text reception has been sporadic at best. I feel bad for those people I text frequently; brevity isn't my strong suit and they end up getting a back log of long-winded, convoluted messages. In retrospect, I laugh, but when I'm trying to have a conversation with someone and neither of our messages can get through, I get all red in the face and ready to toss my beloved phone out of my second-story bedroom window. Right onto the bulkhead. That will teach it for not doing what I want.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Domestic bliss
It's no secret that I lack a certain prowess in the kitchen. Perhaps if my kitchen was wider than your average hallway I might like to flit around the room with my favorite recipe book and a few Pyrex dishes filled with desserts, but my humble abode came complete with a stove smack dab in the middle of (you guessed it!) a hallway and, well, I can't be bothered to spend any length of time there.
Given this obvious lack of skills, whenever I do feel the urge to cook/bake or do anything in the kitchen that involves a hot appliance (stove/oven, toaster or coffee maker to name a few), my friends joke around about my not setting fire to the place. This joke is usually quickly followed with another joke about how I should start a fire, if, for nothing else than to get the fire department to my house and meet my future husband.
While I haven't actually started a fire in order to meet hot men, I have spent a considerable amount of time in their presence and while they're definitely up my alley, they're most definitely not husband material. At least not for me. I'm sure their wives would argue that they make perfectly acceptable husbands, but I digress.
I've got a sudden urge to bake something lately, potential risk of fire be damned. Apple crisp, brownies, cookies, cake...you name it, I wanna make it. The cleaning up process after said baking is a bit of a turnoff, however. With so little space in my kitchen, my sink leaves a little more to be desired. The bowls, pans and spoons from dinner/dessert last weekend are still waiting to be cleaned, although if you ask me, they've been "soaking" for so long they've probably cleaned themselves by now.
This sudden need for delicious scents to waft through my apartment (and not through use of scented candles) coupled with my recent redecorating project at home is starting to raise a number of red flags in my mind. What on earth is going on with me lately? Has domestic tranquility finally set in at the tender age of 27? Say it ain't so! But then I'd rather sit home with a bottle of wine, some homemade dessert and a romantic comedy than go out bar hopping with my friends.
Perhaps the world has fallen off its axis?After all, I live in Western Mass after swearing never to return after college; I'm dating someone whose profession isn't listed as one of the civil services; my apartment has never been cleaner and I appear to want nothing more than to be June Cleaver or that damn Donna Reed.
My, how things have changed.
Given this obvious lack of skills, whenever I do feel the urge to cook/bake or do anything in the kitchen that involves a hot appliance (stove/oven, toaster or coffee maker to name a few), my friends joke around about my not setting fire to the place. This joke is usually quickly followed with another joke about how I should start a fire, if, for nothing else than to get the fire department to my house and meet my future husband.
While I haven't actually started a fire in order to meet hot men, I have spent a considerable amount of time in their presence and while they're definitely up my alley, they're most definitely not husband material. At least not for me. I'm sure their wives would argue that they make perfectly acceptable husbands, but I digress.
I've got a sudden urge to bake something lately, potential risk of fire be damned. Apple crisp, brownies, cookies, cake...you name it, I wanna make it. The cleaning up process after said baking is a bit of a turnoff, however. With so little space in my kitchen, my sink leaves a little more to be desired. The bowls, pans and spoons from dinner/dessert last weekend are still waiting to be cleaned, although if you ask me, they've been "soaking" for so long they've probably cleaned themselves by now.
This sudden need for delicious scents to waft through my apartment (and not through use of scented candles) coupled with my recent redecorating project at home is starting to raise a number of red flags in my mind. What on earth is going on with me lately? Has domestic tranquility finally set in at the tender age of 27? Say it ain't so! But then I'd rather sit home with a bottle of wine, some homemade dessert and a romantic comedy than go out bar hopping with my friends.
Perhaps the world has fallen off its axis?After all, I live in Western Mass after swearing never to return after college; I'm dating someone whose profession isn't listed as one of the civil services; my apartment has never been cleaner and I appear to want nothing more than to be June Cleaver or that damn Donna Reed.
My, how things have changed.
Monday, October 11, 2010
The little things
I found it, the pièce de résistance that brings together my little redecorating project at home: a "painting" of a chocolate Labrador that looks exactly like Guinness. The artist did a superb job capturing the quizzical expression of the dog, which looks so eerily similar to my beautiful boy that I had to buy it. In doing so, I gave up the longed-for A to Z bookends I had gone to the store to buy, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices in life.
Doc said he'd hang it up for me next time he came over — right over the TV where it'll garner a significant amount of attention (from me, that is). After all, I'm forever watching television, staring in the general direction of the wall in which the picture will hang.
I'm so excited. Clearly, it's the little things that make me happy in life.
Doc said he'd hang it up for me next time he came over — right over the TV where it'll garner a significant amount of attention (from me, that is). After all, I'm forever watching television, staring in the general direction of the wall in which the picture will hang.
I'm so excited. Clearly, it's the little things that make me happy in life.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Putting things in perspective
Yesterday, I sent Doc a text message asking how work was going (he's doing a rotation in emergency medicine - ew!) and his response was: "Well I haven't killed anybody yet." Wonderful. That's what I like to hear! Rock on!
This succinct declaration made me feel slightly better about some of my job stress lately. Because while it would be terrible for a news brief or other news item not to make it into the paper, the lack of its appearance isn't going to hurt anybody, much less kill them. If I screw up it's just a tiny blip on the radar. If Doc makes an error at his job, however, somebody's life is at stake.
He's such a good boyfriend; always helping me to put things into perspective.
I can breathe deeply now... good air in, bad air out.... ahhhhhh.
Today I came into work to learn about a few mistakes in this week's paper:
1. The fire logs ran under a police log header. Oops. A minor issue; happens to the best of us.
2. A child was incorrectly identified in a photo spread. I haven't gotten this confirmed because nobody approached me directly about it, but a friend of a friend happened to mention it. Nothing I can do unless someone tells me about it. Besides, I didn't take the photo, I just ran what the correspondent provided me.
3. Three obits were left out of the paper. All three were e-mailed earlier this week when we had e-mail problems and weren't received on time to be included. Easily rectified because I can run them next week, but the funeral home director still wasn't happy and (I think) we ended up losing an ad over it. I did have the foresight to run a brief on our front page about e-mail problems so hopefully I can't be found at fault for it.
Thank you to the individuals who pointed out my faults, I truly appreciate it. Now I'd like to pose this question: Was there anything good about the paper this week? Or was my 40-hours of hell all for naught?
I'm sure come Monday I'll hear about a whole number of other errors but I'm inclined to say "whatever" at this point. Let's be happy with the fact that there is a paper to criticize this week, huh? I put one out. Kudos to me because that was no small feat!
Now, who wants to celebrate with some wine?
This succinct declaration made me feel slightly better about some of my job stress lately. Because while it would be terrible for a news brief or other news item not to make it into the paper, the lack of its appearance isn't going to hurt anybody, much less kill them. If I screw up it's just a tiny blip on the radar. If Doc makes an error at his job, however, somebody's life is at stake.
He's such a good boyfriend; always helping me to put things into perspective.
I can breathe deeply now... good air in, bad air out.... ahhhhhh.
Today I came into work to learn about a few mistakes in this week's paper:
1. The fire logs ran under a police log header. Oops. A minor issue; happens to the best of us.
2. A child was incorrectly identified in a photo spread. I haven't gotten this confirmed because nobody approached me directly about it, but a friend of a friend happened to mention it. Nothing I can do unless someone tells me about it. Besides, I didn't take the photo, I just ran what the correspondent provided me.
3. Three obits were left out of the paper. All three were e-mailed earlier this week when we had e-mail problems and weren't received on time to be included. Easily rectified because I can run them next week, but the funeral home director still wasn't happy and (I think) we ended up losing an ad over it. I did have the foresight to run a brief on our front page about e-mail problems so hopefully I can't be found at fault for it.
Thank you to the individuals who pointed out my faults, I truly appreciate it. Now I'd like to pose this question: Was there anything good about the paper this week? Or was my 40-hours of hell all for naught?
I'm sure come Monday I'll hear about a whole number of other errors but I'm inclined to say "whatever" at this point. Let's be happy with the fact that there is a paper to criticize this week, huh? I put one out. Kudos to me because that was no small feat!
Now, who wants to celebrate with some wine?
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Murphy's Law
Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, that's the way it goes right?
That's the way it's been since my editor left for vacation last Thursday. On Friday morning, just as I was getting out of bed to shower and come to work, the power went out. Given that I live only a half a mile from work I assumed (correctly) that they had no electricity either. I got into work after showering by scented-candle light (ambiance and a sweet-smelling bathroom, you can't go wrong) and discovered the source of the outage was a tree that took down a pole and wires behind our building by the railroad tracks. I waited around for a good five hours before declaring the day a lost cause and going home.
Once I got home, I still had no power, so I spent the afternoon and early evening vacillating between relaxation and depression. I don't mind sitting at home alone with a few candles lit (and by a few, I mean about 20), but I've decided I can't live without my TV/DVD player. Luckily, Doc rescued me by taking me out to dinner and by the time we returned home at 9:30 p.m., power was restored.
Since I don't have Internet access at home, I spent the rest of the weekend mentally preparing myself for the week ahead, especially after losing an entire day of writing/processing materials. On Monday, I came into the office, booted up my computer, and was immediately alerted to e-mail server problems. Instead of fighting with my mail program, I tried to check my alternate e-mail, only to discover I couldn't so much as access Google. Immediately, I felt it... The waves of nausea washed over me as I tried to consider my options. What were my options? It was Monday and I had just two days to pull together an entire week's newspaper. And without e-mail, there was no paper.
Yesterday was moderately successful — I got a lot of processing/writing/editing done — if you discount the fact that I waited a good four hours to obtain one of my police logs. We can't not run our police log; it had to get done, which means I made a nuisance of myself badgering the poor emergency dispatcher until someone faxed over what I was looking for.
That brings us up to today... Wednesday/Production Day. Today marks the end of my first week in charge and I can barely look back on the last several days without wanting to vomit or cry, both of which would be completely inappropriate at my desk at work. It'll have to wait til I get home.
Just six more days of hell.
That's the way it's been since my editor left for vacation last Thursday. On Friday morning, just as I was getting out of bed to shower and come to work, the power went out. Given that I live only a half a mile from work I assumed (correctly) that they had no electricity either. I got into work after showering by scented-candle light (ambiance and a sweet-smelling bathroom, you can't go wrong) and discovered the source of the outage was a tree that took down a pole and wires behind our building by the railroad tracks. I waited around for a good five hours before declaring the day a lost cause and going home.
Once I got home, I still had no power, so I spent the afternoon and early evening vacillating between relaxation and depression. I don't mind sitting at home alone with a few candles lit (and by a few, I mean about 20), but I've decided I can't live without my TV/DVD player. Luckily, Doc rescued me by taking me out to dinner and by the time we returned home at 9:30 p.m., power was restored.
Since I don't have Internet access at home, I spent the rest of the weekend mentally preparing myself for the week ahead, especially after losing an entire day of writing/processing materials. On Monday, I came into the office, booted up my computer, and was immediately alerted to e-mail server problems. Instead of fighting with my mail program, I tried to check my alternate e-mail, only to discover I couldn't so much as access Google. Immediately, I felt it... The waves of nausea washed over me as I tried to consider my options. What were my options? It was Monday and I had just two days to pull together an entire week's newspaper. And without e-mail, there was no paper.
Yesterday was moderately successful — I got a lot of processing/writing/editing done — if you discount the fact that I waited a good four hours to obtain one of my police logs. We can't not run our police log; it had to get done, which means I made a nuisance of myself badgering the poor emergency dispatcher until someone faxed over what I was looking for.
That brings us up to today... Wednesday/Production Day. Today marks the end of my first week in charge and I can barely look back on the last several days without wanting to vomit or cry, both of which would be completely inappropriate at my desk at work. It'll have to wait til I get home.
Just six more days of hell.
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