Say what?

I like to think of myself as a highly evolved and even enlightened being.  It doesn't take much these days, however, to dissuade me from that view and make me feel that I am a mere cockroach on the kitchen floor of higher thinking.  All around me are wealthier, happier folks.  They are better dressed and moving at a better pace, or they are slobby but clearly tourists enjoying a vacation (vacation? meaning . . . huh what what?), or they are what we used to call hip and probably students or artists or something cool.  Any of that would be an improvement on the state in which I reside.  Not New Jersey, by the way.  I don't even think of myself as living in New Jersey since I'm ever so close to Manhattan as to be able to see all of it from the corner nearest my house.  But it certainly doesn't define me, living in New Jersey.  It's just a fact.

I am not enlightened but confused much of the time.  It really hit me at my local grocery store when I stopped by to get a few necessities.  I take a list with me to the grocery store to keep from getting overwhelmed by needing everything and wanting to eat everything and cook everything and stock up on everything I might someday use.  This does not prevent me from thinking of things in the store, and even buying said things.  But it does improve my spending-to-needing ratio dramatically.  Let me say about my neighborhood that it has a delightful mix of folks of a huge range of socio-economics but a rather limited supply of people who are not either Italian or Hispanic--largely Cuban and Dominican.  So the grocery store caters to that clientele and for the most part that suits me fine.  If I need anything outside that world, it's not far to travel to get good organics, or Jewish or Japanese or Indian or anything "exotic" by Weehawken standards.  It's just a small town really.

When we moved to Weehawken, almost twenty years ago, the local supermarket was being renovated and we were a little nervous about the Beirut-like profile of the place--tiles missing on the floor and ceiling, wiring dangling from light fixtures also dangling, and sections of the place blocked off for a week or two at a time.  But let me be clear: regardless of the fixes being undertaken in the place, the basic layout of what was where remained completely identical.  And after all these years of doing most of my shopping there, even since the Trader Joe's opened not too far away, I know the place better than my own kitchen since people who live with or visit me like to put stuff where they think it should go rather than where it does go.  That's another post.  Remind me.

Now they are renovating again.  New meat counter, new freezer sections, new stuff all over the place and they are also . . . in the process of reorganizing where everything goes.  WHAT?  I had a little tiny list--pet food (most people would say dog food or cat food or dog food and cat food but our cat will only eat dog food and the dogs will eat anything so dog food it is and I know it's not good for the cat but she won't listen to me about that since she is a cat plus she seems to get all the extra nutritional value she needs stalking and munching on birds and rodents in the neighborhood, depending on their seasonal availability), milk, toilet paper, eggs, hamster bedding (we think one of them is still alive but we can't be sure), Mio, and two or three other things.  Unbelievable.  It took me three times as long due to three times as much back-tracking in the store to find most of the things and then I gave up.  There was a time when I was so organized as to have a computer-generated list of the main things I usually get, in order by the aisle in the store where one might find the thing.

I felt so idiotic, wandering up and down every aisle in the store that toilet paper should be.  What a ridiculous statement.  I was so confused.  I was distraught.  I was in a state of despair.

Many years ago the story was told to me thus: If you take a rat in a lab, you can teach the rat to go down the third lane every time by placing a reward at the end of the third lane and repeating the exercise often enough.  Much like training a human.  But with a rat, you can also teach them that the reward is no longer in the third lane by removing the reward.  It takes them a little while to "unlearn" the third lane as a place for rewards, but eventually they do quit looking down the third lane for their reward.  This is the difference between humans and rats.  Humans will continue infinitely to go down the third lane and instead of getting their reward, they will explain why the reward is no longer there.  But they will never give up on their attachment to the third lane.  Eventually they become nostalgic for the reward, sitting in the third lane, waxing rhapsodic about the good old days when there was a reward there.

This is what happened to me at the store.  I knew the toilet paper wasn't there.  But I kept looking for it where it used to be and coming up with idiotic explanations for why it wasn't there anymore.

This is a metaphor for my life.

Ow

I have a bunch of aches and pains.  My ankle, which I broke in multiple places when I was eight months pregnant with Clark Kent (years ago), hurts when it's cold, humid, or when I do too much.  My back, which I injured in middle school mistaking myself for a gymnast temporarily, hurts when I sleep on it funny or I lift things or I fail to stretch before bed.  My neck is sore and makes crunching noises when I turn my head, especially if I do head rolls to the left.  I don't do head rolls to the right so I'm not sure if it would make crunching noises going that way.  My knees take turns complaining to me about too much sitting without stretching and too much weight on them and especially if I try to crawl around on the floor or crouch or squat or go either up or down stairs.  My hips seize up if I walk up a steep hill like the one I live on.

I'm also getting wrinkly.  My hands are definitely wrinkly and every time I joyously succeed at losing a pound or two, I notice additional wrinkliness.  I may subconsciously be trying to fail at weight loss in order to avoid looking wrinklier and therefore older.  When I'm chubby, the fat pushes out my skin and the wrinkles are smoothed nicely.  My own personal botox treatments.  But it's just cheese taken orally.  So I'm chubby.  And the additional weight makes my knees and ankle and back and hips more achey.  So old I guess is winning.

I am torn at this mid-point in my life between trying to feel younger and admitting my age.  It's quite a tug of war going on actually.  I want to do things like ride merry go rounds and watch comedies and learn to ice skate.  I like to make faces at my kids and lick a lollipop and have pancakes for dinner and ice cream for breakfast.  And I want to, simultaneously, make a difference in the world and truly be cultured and avoid contributing to the overall decline in formal written language.  But I also want to say, "f--- that" and turn up the rock really loud and sing along at the top of my lungs.  But then I need to eat better and recycle more and get on a bicycle.  Or watch the complete works of Mel Brooks all in a row and have to order in Chinese food because I can't stop watching long enough to cook and learn to juggle and make that really loud whistle sound with my fingers.

Sigh.

I really don't want to do anything that requires any significant effort on my part.  And I want a feeling of grand accomplishment.  Or maybe I could be wealthy enough to hire someone to accomplish things for me while feeding me bon bons.  But I only want to be wealthy if there is nothing I have to do to get there.  I'm too achy and wrinkly for putting out an effort.

The Warmth of the Cold

So this holiday season, in lieu of money to spend on gifts, we cashed in on the points we had unknowingly collected by virtue of having our credit union account for . . . a long time . . . I'm actually not sure how long now that I try to be specific.  Maybe not quite but close to twenty years.  I didn't even know there were points involved.  I don't now know when they started awarding points for what on which card(s) associated with our accounts.  But anyway, there were points.

And so I got gift cards to buy a new coat. I needed a new coat because my old coat is actually a ski jacket of the type one should wear skiing which is something I've only done once in my whole life and just to give you a clue, Jimmy Carter was actually president at the time.  Remember Jimmy Carter?  He was the last president we had who was first and foremost a diplomat.  Sigh.  But the jacket was a gift from my father-in-law who is nothing if not generous and it was a color that brightly brought out my eyes and was incredibly warm even in windy nasty wet freezing weather for as much of my body as a jacket would cover.

But now I had gift cards to buy a new coat from what we used to call a "catalog" company but now I guess is an "online" company known for its outerwear seeing as how the company is actually in the northern reaches of New England where outerwear is quite important to everyday life.

I decided to buy a grown-up long wool overcoat.  I've never had one in my life.  I've always been a casual dresser and even well into my middle years have worn hiking boots (not that I hike or anything, just that hiking boots are very comfortable and support my flat flat flat eet nicely) or running shoes (not that I run or anything, just that running shoes are very comfortable and support my flat flat flat feet nicely) and my ski jacket and gloves that don't match my scarf and yet I decided that it was time to have a grown-up long wool overcoat.  So I did.  I accidentally ordered the wrong color--I wanted classic black--but ordered Loden.  What's Loden? I don't know.  But when it arrived it was a subtle shade of grey green that exactly matches my eyes and so I have kept it.

Last night I jumped at the chance to see a Broadway show that I couldn't afford to pay for and therefore would have missed with a dear old friend of whom I am so fond that she could ask me to see a show that I don't want to see and I would see it anyway just to be with her.  She is a Tony voter (an "occupation" of which I am completely jealous) and therefore sees everything.  She is also a long time member of the stage actors' union (Equity) and as such, knows a lot of folks in the business.  Nearly every time we see a show, she tells me stories about some or other cast member or the conductor.  She knows the box office folks and the house manager at every theatre and is always treated like royalty by the theatre staff.  I enjoy basking in the glow of her importance.

I put on my new coat and a plain white scarf and a pair of black gloves and a head wrap and shoes that matched my sweater and slacks that matched my shoes and socks and ventured out into the January chill of midtown Manhattan.  The wind was its usual island intense and it was certainly below freezing what with the ice patches here and there next to the curbs in the theatre district.  Tourists were crying out at every flash of breeze as I made my way to theatre in my typically way-too-early fashion.  I waited outside the theatre for thirty minutes toasty warm in my new disguise as a middle-aged woman who pays attention to her appearance.  My friend did not recognize me although she was standing about eighteen inches from me looking intently for me.  I tugged on her sleeve and she did a classic double-take and we laughed and proceeded to enjoy a charming evening of catching up, critiquing the show, visiting an old friend backstage, gushing over the "ingenue" whose performance was positively riveting but who seemed not to know, and then wine, cheese, french bread and theatre talk at a nearby bistro.

I am put in mind of that little pop tune that has been around for a few years now.  Hey, I put my new coat on and suddenly everything's right.

Where Have I Been???

So where have I been?  I don't know.  I'm not sure where I am now.  I definitely don't know where I'm going.  Stuff has been happening.  I've been living "one day at a time" as my colleagues in the multi-step thingie say.

I'm at work.  I'm on a break waiting for the next thing to do, which is how stuff goes at the new gig.  Busy, busy, busy; wait, wait, wait.  I don't mind that.  I actually find it to be my preferred method of existence.

I've been spending a ton of time applying for actual jobs (since this is a freelance deal and therefore not steady and therefore not appropriate for a grown-up like me) and all of the awkwardness that goes with that.

I made a new CV, which for those of you who don't know, is a long-winded academic boring version of a resume.  I've written about sixty cover letters, attempting to personalize each one to the exact job and location and yadda yadda yadda.  And some folks want "candidate statements" and others want "philosophical statements" and others want three references or five references or a list of the references' contact information--three or five--and some don't ask for references at all but might want a portfolio or DVD or to have followed me around for the significant moments of my life so they can tell whether or not I'm worthy of the $40,000/year one year or two year appointment available at the college I've never heard of in the town I've never heard of in the state I've only driven through which I could really describe as accurately as needed as, "not within spitting distance of Manhattan" or "what will I do with myself if I have any spare time?" and forget about describing any further.

The logistics are ridiculous.  I get a job somewhere else.  Bruce Wayne has to finish school where he is if he is going to manage good odds at the college thing, which I can't afford to pay for.  Sandman is applying for graduate school near here and won't want to leave if he gets in and they offer to cover his tuition.  And well, Peter Parker would probably come along with me because she hates everything so is always convinced that not only is the grass greener, but the new thing will change everything for the better.  And then we'd be trying to maintain two households on . . .

If I go down this path I am just flinging myself down onto the soft pine needles for lack of energy that might allow me to move in any direction.  That was an extremely messy use of the journey metaphor.

Let's talk about something better.  Did you know that people at work can be nice and friendly?  I had forgotten.