I'm avoiding the computer, and I don't quite understand why, but I have some inklings. It's my main connection to the world outside my New Mexico life and it's also the main tool for organizing said life. Would I really rather just sit with my knitting and watch NCIS re-runs? Seems so. At any rate, the computer seems to have become my locus for ostrich behavior.
It's not as if I am avoiding everything. I've been here a month now. The work and people are becoming familiar to me. While I still don't have a landing spot in the library system, as of Friday I have an interim project (other than learning the similar-yet-different procedures and policies): I will be working on the RFID project. I met my partner on Friday and we interviewed the last 4 (out of 13) temp workers. We still don't know what the project really entails, but on Tuesday, when we are trained on the equipment, it will all fall into place. Hopefully. After all, how difficult can it be to organize placing RFID tags on every item in the system?
Despite the ever-changing job location, or maybe because of it, I am starting to get around without consulting Mapquest first. I know where the cheap parking lots are near the downtown library. Even better, I find myself singing along with the radio, watching for "my" mountains as I drive home, watching the clouds gather and disperse, noting the slant of light in the late afternoon.
It's an easy commute, regardless of where I'm going. The streets feel so wide and empty: blurts of traffic are followed by wide gaps, which gives me enough time to pull a U-turn at intersections when I find myself going the wrong way (and that still happens regularly.) I've left the Honda and its better gas mileage to D and have taken over the truck. It has manual steering and no pickup to speak of, and it's still easy enough to maneuver through traffic and onramps. I am developing a fondness for the frontage roads, but am not overly fearful of the highways.
Sadly, I was recently informed that I am living in a fool's paradise. Once school starts up in late August, travel time will triple in certain areas, and those spacious multi-lane hwys and main roads will fill up.
At least I'll get get my learning in while the traffic is manageable.
Discovery is the name of the game right now. I've found the classical radio station (which is so-so) and a terrific classic rock station (KIOT, pronounced Coyote.) My list of restaurants and things to do is growing and we actually had some friends over for dinner last week. The daily news focuses on the heat wave and the wildfires, and I'm starting to figure out where all those places are in relation to my home. I use the heat as an excuse to sit by the pool and read, and I've read 6 new books in the last 4 weeks.
From this perspective, it looks like I'm contentedly settling in. I have a routine and a comfortable place to be, both emotionally and physically. The finances are still a drag, but all the details are working themselves out, and D is very enthusiastic about his new job. I'm starting to lose a little weight and firm up a few muscles. I have a lot to be proud of and even more to enjoy about my life.
So, why am I still avoiding the computer? I started this post yesterday, after several hours of reading, cooking, and pool-sitting. I quit after 10 minutes, unable to sustain an interest in my own doings, unable to respond reasonably to my friends' postings and messages. I fought with D. When the BBQ with H got cancelled, I felt a familiar sinking feeling: I have no friends. Later, as D and I tried to get back on speaking terms, I broke down and sobbed, "I'm so lonely!"
Today's avoidance mechanism is different: I'm using the blog and FB to avoid taking care of business. In fact, I have spent 3 hours transcribing notes and tracking down links, when what I should be doing is paying my bills. And I'm wondering why I can't take care of myself and take care of business. Why does my daily path seem to be a zigzag around things I just don't want to confront? It seems no matter what I do, it isn't what I should be doing.
But maybe it's what I need to be doing.
Showing posts with label routines. Show all posts
Showing posts with label routines. Show all posts
Monday, July 2, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Settling into a routine
This is my 3rd Sunday in ABQ. Since D is not here to galvanize me into motion towards 1st service, I spend the morning catching up on Facebook and e-mail and LJ. S has written some hilarious posts regarding Simone's first few days with them. I laugh out loud, but am not sure if my tears are from laughter or sadness. I miss them all so much, every day.
The littlest things trigger grief and nostalgia....
Yesterday the library had its bi-monthly Read to the Dogs program. On seeing the blonde woman walk by with the perky schnauzer, my first thought is, "Oh shit, my 10th day in training, my first hour as Person In Charge, and I have to deal with illegal dogs." I go to the desk to find out how this place handles service and non-service animals and then go looking for her. I finally run her to earth in the story-time room where 3 other dogs are also settled, and I realize it's legit. Huge sigh of relief: few things are more challenging than booting a self-righteous dog owner.
From then on my one goal is to get a chance to pet those puppies. I think back to Lisa, the golden retriever from the HWD RTD program: she would flop on her side and remain so for the entire 2 hours. Then she'd come into the staff workroom, owner in tow, and lean against our knees, encouraging our pats and pets and flopping again as we converged upon her. She would have stayed all day if we had let her.
The RTD coordinator comes to the desk to give us the totals, and I express my earnest desire to meet the dogs. She says sure, and I start telling J, my desk partner, about Carbon. My tears well up again, but I am steadied by J's sympathy and then a gorgeous springer spaniel comes up to me. Her owner says, "I hear someone wanted a pet?" and I am seated on the floor, cooing over floppy ears and soft fur.
You'd think being in a new place would lessen my yearning for pets and friends. After all, the routines and spaces they occupied are gone. I shouldn't have these deja vu moments of grief. Yes, a cottage cheese carton is a cottage cheese carton, but the rest is totally different. There should be no memory triggers.
Still, I do find that the new routines are not that new, and the new space is not that unfamiliar. We now have our second load of possessions in place, so there are familiar paintings and photographs on the walls, the bed and bedside tables are the same, we have the same dishes and clothes. The things we forgot (how can we live without the knife set? or the computer speakers?) merely accentuate the familiarity of the rest of our surroundings. My thoughts go backward, not forward, as I set up my home and routines. Yes, it's all one big memory trigger:
Sunday, church at 9:30, then an afternoon exploration. Monday, the day to take care of business. Tuesday through Saturday, work (the same routines and resources as any public library, just enough differences to keep me on my toes). Start the day with a half hour in the fitness center. Come home to a half hour at the pool. (Okay, these are new.) Help with dinner, do dishes, watch TV and knit. Go to bed and read.
Somewhere in the middle of this, I try to fit in e-mail and business, but I find myself avoiding both. The Internet is only bringing me grief right now: there's usually a message from someone telling me that I've dropped the ball or that I owe money or that I'm going to be sued (that's the upstairs renter), or that the house is falling apart or, or, or.... The fun posts on Facebook just make me aware of the fact that I am alone and broke, that I am disconnected from my joy.
However, there is hope. Today I squared up to the computer and found that I could deal with the ongoing tenant strife and move on to the good stuff. I didn't fight with D about money during today's phone call. In the past week I found myself enjoying my commute. The area is becoming familiar, the roads are not too crowded, and I like what I see. The Sandia foothills rise above me, beautiful against the big blue sky. The open spaces and parks and arroyos cut into the subdivisions and strip malls, reminding me that this is the high desert. I look forward to seeing the arroyos fill with water: Bear Canyon (Arroyo de Osos) is inches away from us, and I wonder if it can really contain a flash flood.
This is not home yet, but I can see the possibilities.
The littlest things trigger grief and nostalgia....
- I finish scooping out the carton of cottage cheese and look for Carbon: one of her joys in life was taking the carton between her teeth and carrying it to a special place, lying down and worrying at it until the last delicious sour milk drop was licked up. Then she'd leave it in the middle of the room for us to trip over.
- Last night I was reading in bed, and I felt so lonely without her warm bulk pressed against me, her snores and twitches testifying to a satisfying dream life. The loneliness is intensified because D is in PDX, finishing up packing and business, in between hosting CA friends and going wine tasting. Usually both pets would be keeping me company in his absence.
- Small creaking noises make me look for Simone, the usual source of unexplained sounds. I look for her to come in through the non-existent cat door, for her to be curled up on the couch when I get up, for her to join me during a bout of insomnia.
There's more....
Yesterday the library had its bi-monthly Read to the Dogs program. On seeing the blonde woman walk by with the perky schnauzer, my first thought is, "Oh shit, my 10th day in training, my first hour as Person In Charge, and I have to deal with illegal dogs." I go to the desk to find out how this place handles service and non-service animals and then go looking for her. I finally run her to earth in the story-time room where 3 other dogs are also settled, and I realize it's legit. Huge sigh of relief: few things are more challenging than booting a self-righteous dog owner.
From then on my one goal is to get a chance to pet those puppies. I think back to Lisa, the golden retriever from the HWD RTD program: she would flop on her side and remain so for the entire 2 hours. Then she'd come into the staff workroom, owner in tow, and lean against our knees, encouraging our pats and pets and flopping again as we converged upon her. She would have stayed all day if we had let her.
The RTD coordinator comes to the desk to give us the totals, and I express my earnest desire to meet the dogs. She says sure, and I start telling J, my desk partner, about Carbon. My tears well up again, but I am steadied by J's sympathy and then a gorgeous springer spaniel comes up to me. Her owner says, "I hear someone wanted a pet?" and I am seated on the floor, cooing over floppy ears and soft fur.
You'd think being in a new place would lessen my yearning for pets and friends. After all, the routines and spaces they occupied are gone. I shouldn't have these deja vu moments of grief. Yes, a cottage cheese carton is a cottage cheese carton, but the rest is totally different. There should be no memory triggers.
Still, I do find that the new routines are not that new, and the new space is not that unfamiliar. We now have our second load of possessions in place, so there are familiar paintings and photographs on the walls, the bed and bedside tables are the same, we have the same dishes and clothes. The things we forgot (how can we live without the knife set? or the computer speakers?) merely accentuate the familiarity of the rest of our surroundings. My thoughts go backward, not forward, as I set up my home and routines. Yes, it's all one big memory trigger:
Sunday, church at 9:30, then an afternoon exploration. Monday, the day to take care of business. Tuesday through Saturday, work (the same routines and resources as any public library, just enough differences to keep me on my toes). Start the day with a half hour in the fitness center. Come home to a half hour at the pool. (Okay, these are new.) Help with dinner, do dishes, watch TV and knit. Go to bed and read.
Somewhere in the middle of this, I try to fit in e-mail and business, but I find myself avoiding both. The Internet is only bringing me grief right now: there's usually a message from someone telling me that I've dropped the ball or that I owe money or that I'm going to be sued (that's the upstairs renter), or that the house is falling apart or, or, or.... The fun posts on Facebook just make me aware of the fact that I am alone and broke, that I am disconnected from my joy.
However, there is hope. Today I squared up to the computer and found that I could deal with the ongoing tenant strife and move on to the good stuff. I didn't fight with D about money during today's phone call. In the past week I found myself enjoying my commute. The area is becoming familiar, the roads are not too crowded, and I like what I see. The Sandia foothills rise above me, beautiful against the big blue sky. The open spaces and parks and arroyos cut into the subdivisions and strip malls, reminding me that this is the high desert. I look forward to seeing the arroyos fill with water: Bear Canyon (Arroyo de Osos) is inches away from us, and I wonder if it can really contain a flash flood.
This is not home yet, but I can see the possibilities.
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