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Feb. 15th, 2004 06:02 pmWhoa, it's been ... over two weeks? ... since I posted anything here. Perhaps three or four dozen entries got drafted in my head during that interlude, but none actually got written. I've been feeling -- not bad, exactly, but quite astoundingly remote and disconnected, like I'm drifting around on a rubber raft in the great empty sea, almost out of sight of shore. I'm hoping that Escapade will constitute some kind of a rescue party, hauling me back to land.
Various things that have gone on lately...
1. Work, work, and more work. Work during the day, work anxieties during those nightly 3 a.m. interludes of Oh jeez, any day now they'll find out how incompetent I really am.
2. In contrast, a really, really nice midyear review session with my boss. Like, really nice. Which left me filled with optimism that the promotional opportunity might possibly, conceivably work out for me (if they'll ever post the friggin' opening).
3. A high-speed but absolutely lovely two-day trip to Tropical Climes, ostensibly to attend a professional training session. The training session was pretty much bleh, but the setting ... well, walking barefoot on a white-sand beach, sipping a gin and tonic and watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico? In February? There is no bad there.
4. And, in the last day or two, family brouhaha having to do with my dad's health, a topic I'll just let lie. Well, except to say that there's a remote but greater-than-zero possibility that this could interfere with my Escapade attendance. ::morosely thwacking head against wall::
5. E-mail hassles. I have an unpleasant sense that some of my e-mail might not have come through (I've been seeing replies to list messages that I never got in the first place, and these aren't just Yahoo lists). If you sent me something and didn't get a reply, it might not hurt to re-send.
Boy. <staring at entry thus far> It feels really strange to write this -- hell, it feels really strange to write anything. I feel like Lenny in Of Mice and Men, squeezing the helpless words to death with my huge thick clumsy hands. Or like -- you know how when you've had dental work and you're still bung-full of Novocaine, but are trying to talk anyway, and you're slurring and mumbling and maybe drooling a little? Mumble, mumble, fumble.
And, um. This is all for now, I guess, except that I truly hope to see some of you in five days or so.
Various things that have gone on lately...
1. Work, work, and more work. Work during the day, work anxieties during those nightly 3 a.m. interludes of Oh jeez, any day now they'll find out how incompetent I really am.
2. In contrast, a really, really nice midyear review session with my boss. Like, really nice. Which left me filled with optimism that the promotional opportunity might possibly, conceivably work out for me (if they'll ever post the friggin' opening).
3. A high-speed but absolutely lovely two-day trip to Tropical Climes, ostensibly to attend a professional training session. The training session was pretty much bleh, but the setting ... well, walking barefoot on a white-sand beach, sipping a gin and tonic and watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico? In February? There is no bad there.
4. And, in the last day or two, family brouhaha having to do with my dad's health, a topic I'll just let lie. Well, except to say that there's a remote but greater-than-zero possibility that this could interfere with my Escapade attendance. ::morosely thwacking head against wall::
5. E-mail hassles. I have an unpleasant sense that some of my e-mail might not have come through (I've been seeing replies to list messages that I never got in the first place, and these aren't just Yahoo lists). If you sent me something and didn't get a reply, it might not hurt to re-send.
Boy. <staring at entry thus far> It feels really strange to write this -- hell, it feels really strange to write anything. I feel like Lenny in Of Mice and Men, squeezing the helpless words to death with my huge thick clumsy hands. Or like -- you know how when you've had dental work and you're still bung-full of Novocaine, but are trying to talk anyway, and you're slurring and mumbling and maybe drooling a little? Mumble, mumble, fumble.
And, um. This is all for now, I guess, except that I truly hope to see some of you in five days or so.