Moving...

Andy closes on the condominium today, in about a half hour from the time I am writing this, actually. He was nervous this morning and suddenly, I became nervous, too. I'm not so worried about the expense of it as I am worried about how much this will change our lives. It's funny that I've been craving change for some time now, and when it feels like a change will be happening at last, I want to pull the covers over my head and hide.

I think I'll be better once we're finally living in the new place. Right now we are surrounded by boxes and just...waiting. Waiting for this day actually, and now everything should be moving pretty fast from here on out. There will be a constant stream of electricians, painters, movers, and boxes. Lots of boxes. Lots of shopping, too, I suspect, from Andy tone. He is craving a fresh start, too, and he wants to get rid of most of our furniture to buy new, if his finances permit it.

I think it could be too much too soon too little time. I understand his enthusiasm, but I also understand his anxiety about money. I wish that I could be more of a help, but I'm not. I'm just not making a whole lot of money right now. I'm not successful like he is, and sometimes I wonder if I ever will be out of debt. I've come a long way, but I still have so far to go that I feel discouraged by it.


I just wish it were 29 May already.

Being pecked to death by small birds

This morning, while walking Surly, I watched a small bird fly into the window of a parked car. It bounced off the glass and turned to fly into the window of a nearby building. It ricocheted off the window pane and struck me in the shoulder. Since I was jogging at the time, I was quite startled, but probably more surprised that bird was still alive and flew to safety in a nearby tree.

This is a fitting metaphor for my life right now. I feel like I am being bombarded but I can never tell where each little bomb is coming from. They are tiny, mind you, but numerous. It could be anything from running out of packing tape while in the middle of filling cardboard boxes with our belongings for this move at the end of the month. It could be all the minutiae of packing itself, like remembering to change your address with your bank and your magazine subscriptions. It could be the living with boxes and the incredible shrinking apartment as we do the elaborate dance to try to get around each other, and the dog, while getting ready for work.

This wouldn't be so bad except that my job is unsettled as well. I am moving into a new position (allegedly), so I have tie up all the loose ends, which are a tangled mess left over from my boss, who was fired. On top of this, there is one more alumni event I have to help with, which equates to hundreds (literally) of phone calls with registrants. Finally, the time off I desperately need to help with the condo is in question as well. So many things I thought were done deals aren't. Everything feels messy and don't feel like I have any escape from these hassles and aggravation, even if it's a only temporary reprieve.

I'm so grouchy all of the time. I feel claustrophobic, and I have very little patience. I can't even imagine what life in the new place will be like. I can't imagine what colors the walls will be or what it will be like to have two bathrooms or to have coffee on the back deck or in the sunroom in the summer morning. I can't wait to see an actual dining room with an actual table and chairs. Or the blue room.

Andy showed me a picture from a magazine of the blue room. It's simply a room with different shades of blue paint (and a great purple couch) and other blue accents, but there was something about the color against the wood floor, the contrast of cool colors, that gave me a sense of comfort and calm and joy all at once. Andy promised me that there would be a blue room in the condo, so I hope we can make one. I think I need one.

Passing Notes in Class

On the train, I saw a man pass another man a note.

I hadn't noticed that they had been making eye contact with each other the entire trip. One man had to de-train at Belmont, so he surreptitiously handed the other a folded piece of paper and murmured something in his ear in passing. This happened so quickly and so smoothly that I'm sure I was the only one that saw the exchange. The object of affection did not open the note, but clasped it tightly in one fist, like a treasure, all the way to downtown.

The moment was sweet and touching, at least to me. It reminded me of school-days crushes where we'd pass notes in class: "if you like me, please check this box." There is something wonderful about that, the thrill and blush of a new possibility for romance, and also something almost innocent, in spite of our grown-up exteriors.

Oscar Blues

After dealing with a week of a pulled back muscle, I was really looking forward to some entertainment and to me, the Academy Awards Ceremony is GREAT entertainment. The performances are hilarious, whether intentionally so or not, and the whole spectacle of the show - from the red carpet entrance, the rented diamonds (and rented people - did you see Sir Ian's loveboy? me-ow!), the Cinderella dresses, the self-congratulatory montages of Hollywood's greatness - is colorful, romantic, and gorgeously excessive.

The Oscars are the only time when I allow myself to be really girly. In the privacy of my living room, I can choose who I think is the prettiest, who is wearing the best dress or suit, who has the worst taste, who showed up with whom. I can pick nominees to root for and shout with joy when they win or boo disapprovingly when they lose.

If I really enjoy the Oscars so much as a whole, why did this year's ceremony suck so badly?

I think it's mostly sour grapes. There was a movie nominated this year that is near and dear to my heart, and in spite of its thirteen nominations, it was practically snubbed. Yes, I'm talking about The Fellowship of the Ring.

Let's talk about how this movie was made just for a moment. Start with a beloved book, a REALLY beloved book, that is so long that the publishers decided to break it into three books. Let's decide that you want to write a screenplay based on this book, but the screenplay must be faithful to the spirit of the story while at the same time pleasing the fans by keeping all their favorite parts in. Now add that the novel is a dense work filled with poetry, mythology, history, and even an invented language. Also add in that the book is filled with fantastic creatures, wizards that cast spells with spectacular effects, whole armies of foul things and the scariest creatures that anyone could possible imagine. Lastly add in that this book is about, among other things, love, courage, faith, friendship, hope against desperate odds, martyrdom, destiny, and not least, the nature of evil.

Amazingly, you are not daunted by this task. Instead, you convince people to give you 300 million dollars to hire the best actors, screenwriters, cinematographers, make-up artists, costumers, designers, gaffers, grips, etc, etc, to work on your movie. You pay them to be in New Zealand for two years, to film all three movies of the story simultaneously. You have set designers plant crops a year beforehand so that the village set looks real. You have prop masters create individual clasps for cloaks and make-up artists punch hairs into masks by hand to make them look natural. Some of the actors must learn a make-believe language and make it sound as if it were a real one. Finally, after all of the make-up and costuming is applied, the actors must ACT, truly act and give believable, human emotions to fantastic creatures. When they cry for a dead friend, you feel their grief. When they are happy, you laugh with them.

And this is not a movie worthy of praise, indeed the highest praise the industry can give, simply because it has fantastic elements? I argue that all movies have the element of the fantastic! How many rogue cops are there in New York City in real life? How close does a movie get to the real life of the person on which it is based? How many people are truly so charming and know exactly what to say and when to say it in everyday life?

The movies are a collective dream. When they are good, we are transported to another reality; we are enchanted and mesmerized. Whether this is the mythological realm of Middle Earth or a romantic portrait of living in the modern world, it makes no difference, or at least it should make no difference.

Bad weather and bad dreams

This wasn't the easiest weekend.

Saturday morning, Surly's leash broke and Andy and I spent a panicked hour or so trying to catch a dog as quick and agile as a rabbit and four times as smart. I was exhausted emotionally and physically and slept in until about 11 am after that.

It turned out that Rob had cancelled game due to the bad weather that was being predicted. Andy and I did errands in the afternoon, which was clear and warm. We wondered if the weatherman had been wrong all along. But then towards evening the snow came down in big wet flakes. Only a few inches fell, but it was enough to be annoying and even dangerous. Andy and I stayed in and watched DVDs.

Sunday, we took Surly to the groomer and went for brunch at Reza's, which was quite nice. We stuffed ourselves with hummos and falafel and radishes and goat cheese. Surly looked quite nice after the groomer was finished, and he even got to play with two huskies that like to wrestle as much as he does. It was a mellow day, but the temperatures fell drastically last night.

This morning I had a disturbing dream. In it, I was still living in the apartment building on Wilson, my first apartment in the city. It was nighttime in the dream and I could see from my window bombs hitting the city and buildings on fire. I turned on the TV and saw journalists broadcasting from a bunker that was under attack. It was filled with smoke and dust and they were being knocked around by the blasts.

I knew I had to hide, so I took the elevator down to the basement. There the custodians were preparing numerous bedrolls, neatly lined up in rows, for the residents of the building. When they saw me, they explained I had to go back to my apartment and wait for the signal. They were calm and jovial, as if nothing exceptional were happening. One of them escorted me to the elevator...

which turned into a Star-Wars-style spaceship. I was launched into outerspace and flew over the planet into the stars. When I landed, 20 years had passed. I saw some people I recognized as my friends, and they were like slaves, living under a dictator and afraid to stand up for themselves. I think I was trying to rally them to revolt when I woke up.

It was very dark in the apartment and very quiet. I got up to take the dog out and heard planes flying low over the city. I froze with fear and waited until they passed on towards O'Hare Airport. It makes me wonder if everything is really going to go on like it always has, or if everything has truly changed and will never be the same again.

Today I bought a tea kettle, a bright shiny silver thing that would look good on the Tinman. I really enjoy "tea time," though probably not as the English would do it. I got some very good Swedish cheese that takes almost like caramel, some great English crackers (these thick wheaty things) and thin, crisp Swedish ginger cookies. Now that we have a proper kettle again, I can finally enjoy my tea.

I ate at Augie's dinner and had some of the greasiest eggs I've ever eaten. They fry everything in butter, which is surprisingly nauseating. Augie's was packed today with Sunday people, that is people going to breakfast after Sunday services. I'm mildly surprised by people who still get dressed up and go to a church. I saw this little boy, not more than 7, with a suitcoat and tie. This is a usual Sunday occurance for him, to put on a coat and tie and sit through an hour or more of a very adult activity. This seems so foreign to me now, even though I had done much of the same for the first 14 or 15 years of my life.

Why do people have "Sunday best" anyway? Does God really care what anyone wears to services? Does God really care if we worship it at all? I don't think so. I think religion is for people, to comfort and guide them in their lives, not for God. That doesn't mean religion is bad necessarily, just that it is what it is.

I'm putting off cleaning up around here, though this place really needs it. The dust bunnies have mated with the dog's shed fur and have made giant dog-dustbunny hybrids that defy the vaccuum cleaner. I can write my name in the dust on the mantle. And did I mention that our Christmas/Hanukkah decorations are still out? I can't find a box large enough around here to fit them all.

Right now, Andy is writing a bid on a condominium. This is something I've been avoiding thinking about. Partly, I'm worried about money. Mostly, I just don't want to get my hopes up about getting it. I'm worried about how our lives will change if or when he does buy a condo, whether it is this one or a different place. I really like the idea of having a "house of our own," but I worry that the cost (in money and emotions) will be too high.

This morning, while walking the dog, I caught a blur of white out of the corner of my eye. It was a jogger in a pale gray sweatsuit with the hood pulled up over his head. He was running nearly silently, his motion almost floating like a ghost.

Before Surly woke me, I was dreaming about being at a resort. I don't remember the details of it, except that my entire gaming group (we play D&D, a role-playing game) was there. I got the impression that we were playing Rob's game.

There were other people at the resort, but I have only impressions of them: some wealthy, some fashionable, some older. An older woman, who reminded me of the actress Vanessa Redgrave, was appalled by my clothes (as were the other guests, actually). I suddenly realized I was wearing a hideous outfit: a bright blue pajama top and a pair of bright yellow boxer shorts with some kind of print on them. I think it was either palm trees or sailboats. Being too large and baggy, neither article actually fit me properly. I was a bit embarrassed, but I refused to change my clothing, because I felt that would somehow "break character" for me in the game.

Since I refused to change, the lady offered her help with the outfit. There was something very motherly about the way she tried to tuck in the shirt or belt the boxers. She knew there was nothing she could do with these clothes to make them better for me, but she fussed with them anyway.

Kids in a Toy Store

Last night I dreamt that I was shopping for toys. I had one of those handbaskets like you see in the grocery store and walked around a nearly empty store. I hated the store. It didn't have any good toys, or rather any toys that I wanted, and yet I wanted to buy something. I found a small box of Legos, from the Star Wars set, that made an x-wing fighter, so I placed that into the basket. I found some other odd toy to buy. Then I came across something that was anomally for this place: a strange flute or recorder, hand-carved from what looked like twisted, knotty wood or maybe some kind of gourd. I examined that carefully, fascinated by its twists and bulbs. It, too, went into my basket.

The store was almost closed, so I brought my toys to the sole cashier still working. Ahead of me was another customer, a vague woman shape, who was making some kind of complicated purchase. I tried to follow as she changed her mind, rejecting one piece of merchandise for another.

While I waited, the manager (or maybe owner) of the store stood behind me and smirked. She was an ugly, fat woman with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. I think she was saying mean things because I was there so late, after store hours.

Finally, I turned to her and said, "I don't like you. I don't like your store. I'm never coming here again."

This seemed to shut her up.

Finally, the cashier was checking my purchases. He was a skinny teenage boy with acne, and I think he was a little slow. He was not only not fast, but I could see him having trouble with the math and buttons on the cash register. He realized that the box of Legos had been opened, so he stopped to count a myriad of tiny pieces as if to make sure none were lost. Then he wrapped carefully each toy in tissue paper and handed me the shopping bag. It wasn't until I had gotten outside that I realized he had charged me for one of the previous customer's rejected toys. Sure enough, inside my bag were four carefully wrapped parcels.

Outside, my friend Terry and his girlfriend Lisa were waiting. Lisa was quiet and patient, but Terry was leaning on an empty shopping cart and looked furious. For a moment, I was worried that he was mad at me for making him wait, but then it occurred to me that he didn't like the store either. To be sure, I asked him what was wrong. His answer was vague and unreassuring.

I think Lisa and Terry dropped me off at Shane's apartment, though the dream glossed that part over. Shane is friend I had in high school, but we grew apart and haven't seen each other in at least seven years. I was alone in this generic dream apartment, waiting for him to come home. His computer was on; I could see that Shane was playing in an on-line turn-based game that had crude graphics and cost money for each turn. He also had a banking program that was similar to an ATM and allowed me to access his account. I decided to buy something with his money and pay him back later for it.

Shane came back, and a few minutes later his live-in girlfriend came home as well. She was a generic, blonde dream person with no memorable features, but I was surprised when he spoke to her in fluent Spanish (as far as I know, Shane has never even taken a Spanish class).

Shane told us to wait a moment while he finished a turn on his game. He checked his back account and realized that he has significantly less funds than he thought and was going to bounce a few checks. I was mortified. Without telling him why, I asked to use the software. I hoped to replace the money from his account without telling him what I did. But the software was clunky and too complicated; I kept making stupid mistakes and having to start over.

The dog woke me soon after that.