freixenet

Yeah, four months ago I was all "I'm going to start writing again regularly"! and then the rest of 2020 happened. I've been mute.

Four months in lockdown, and I'm starting to accept that this is in fact not going away. The damn thing is raging uncontrolled, nobody is owning this problem, and I miss my sister. The worst thing for me is the effect of the lack of social contacts. Normally, I'd be aware of smiling faces everywhere I go, they're just there in the context, you don't even notice them. Not only am I not going out there, when I AM out there hardly anyone ELSE is out there, and given my extreme isolation practices, it's like being the last 50 humans in the world and I'm hardwired into Skynet's Population Appeasement Sector. I underestimated how much not relaxing over food and wine with my sister and my family twice a week was going to hit me. And now classes start, not just for me but for the country, and I'm so afraid of the extent of the disaster this will be. Well, I started therapy again in July and, while this guy is not exactly what I need, he is helping a lot. The plan is talk therapy first, with my current meds, and then I'll re-assess.

In other news, we have painted the beach house. FINALLY we get some closure on the whole "let's remodel the front porch" initiative that took all of last year from March until October. We ended up replacing the roof and putting in new gutters all the way around. The other big change is a much enlarged front patio area, which is now covered under the extended roof with a high ceiling and lights and so forth, and floored with concrete. There's even a lovely little wall made of grey pavers. It's gorgeous. So I am happy with that, and I know you understand when I say that having gone through a major remodel with this guy, there are some things that I will handle much differently the next time. Much. Differently. But the last step, with the last gasp of my homeowner energy, was to finally paint the damn house. It's been this weird pumpkin pie color (sunburned "desert bisque") with trim that was basically the color of a deep red grapeskin (sunburned "desert rust"), and now it's all glittering, pristine white, with shiny elegant house numbers in front and a silvery grey roof. I can't even really remember how much I hated the old pumpkin pie color because this just feels so clean and sleek!

I am starting to find my groove using the pool house as an escape. We've spent a couple of weekends up there doing fuck all but swimming and napping and eating. Awesome! If this is privilege, well, I think everyone should have it. The wildlife is stupendous. A huge flock of turkeys--two parents, probably five juveniles, about ten chicks--just cruised through one afternoon. I watched a pair of armadillos last weekend for like an hour rooting around the pool shrubs. They were utterly oblivious to anything around them, including PeterPaws, who was like "whaaat is that?" A pair of pileated woodpeckers are in residence making a racket. Deer decide day by day whether they're in the front yard or the back, and now we have a trail cam set up in back to see what happens when we're not around. A colony of crows nearby sends a scouting party every morning just as the sun rises. I'm usually in my meditation room when this happens and it is hilarious to be interrupted by the thump of yelling crows on the roof, jumping up and down over my head just for grins.

I've spent this summer reading, with wine and a side of Netflix. Kameron Hurley, Martha Wells, Neil Gaiman, NK Jemesin, a lot of lovely m/m mysteries, specifically Lev Raphael's Nick Hoffman series. I've read a ton of old urban fantasy genre favorites just for comfort--the dark hunters and the vampires and the gods and the ass kicking women who beat the crap out of all of them. I just also read almost everything in the Mercy Thompson series by Patricia Briggs, WHICH IS OUTSTANDING.

My Amazon bill every month is really shocking--two months in a row I saw I was making a purchase almost every day. Most of them were books but DAMN! I have found joy in Leslie Jordan's Instagram account and Tucker Budzyn's account (if you don't know, go find out) and Golden Girls Seasons 1-4. D went with two seasons of Gilligan's Island, and I'm not sure it lasted long beyond that anyway. Let me tell you that Gilligan's Island is a LOT more on-point than I'd ever given it credit for. Ginger is not just a bubblehead. (Also though some of the racist crap is so bad I couldn't keep watching. Season Two, I think, there was an episode with a Japanese scientist who's also been marooned, and they had fucking awful dialogue...but the worst was that he had to wear glasses that were so intensely magnified he looked like a demon bug. Horrendously, openly, played for laughs racism. However... Ginger is not just a bubblehead. Nor is Mrs Howell, whose given name, I'm sorry to say, does appear to be Lovey. I liked to think that was just his endearment for her.

I miss people. What irony to come to LJ and say "where is everyone?" LOL

Stay safe, y'all.

Man, I do not know what it is, but my mouth (aka my keyboard) has been flapping in highly indiscreet ways. I mean, I'm not blabbing secrets but I'm telling people I know things and I really try not to be that person, especially on social media. UGH Three times in the last few days I've gone on FB and made an ass of myself. I need to STFU. (Dad, that's an acronym for Shut The Fuck Up.) I know I'm talking because I have missed my usual confidantes (typically over a glass or two of wine at The Grape) and I'm just yapping to hear myself talk. UGH. That's kind of pathetic. I MISS YOU I KNOW THINGS HA HA HA KMN

OK. I can't talk about anything more serious. I just can't. But #blacklivesmatter.

On the upside, and there is always one even if I have to manufacture evidence, I have been learning NEW THINGS today and feeling (the tiniest bit) excited about it. Today I figured out how to replicate the really damned interactive "writing on the board" experience in my grammar course using my current tablet, which means I don't have to buy any new equipment for the New Reality that starts in August in whatever I'm using as a teaching space. I just use the stylus that came with my tablet (go S-Pen!) to write on the tablet screen, and while I'm doing that, I'm filming the whole thing on my phone in Ensemble, which will automatically upload to my course shell, to which I can also link.

So this is useful for extensive sentence-tree building and sentence (de)construction for my grammar course, since I cannot possibly do that kind of work using a keyboard or a mouse. I need to write on a board. But useful for recording specific lectures about basic shit, which I can use over and over again. But mostly the exciting thing is that I can kind of replicate the immediate and constant testing of every single student as we work through language. This is the most high-intensity and high-engagement course I have ever taught, and thinking about how I could possibly EVER create that learning space without face to face energy...well...maybe, maybe.

I'm also remembering that I know how to use Powerpoint to make videos and that I have a TON of designed-for-hard-copy stuff already available that just needs to be made more accessible. That means that if I can figure out how to use our "favored" platform, Ensemble (which is a pretty cool bit of video recording software that my institution loves), I can put some stuff together for faculty support and development around writing in a digital environment. Faculty development for the win. Once I get with Marketing to ensure OSHA accessibility standards, I can start offering live and on-demand webinar-type things during the summer when faculty are starting to build their syllabi.

Kind of cool to play with new toys. Just gotta make them serve me. I guess I feel...empowered? energized?...and also I like new toys to make do my bidding.

Blessings on our "instructional design" folks, who really do try to help us do things better even if they also think we're idiots and don't try hard to hide that opinion. Their ethos is very often a combination of disdain and defensiveness. (I will also pull the "both sides" card and confirm that irritated faculty don't often hide their disregard for the ID folks, whom they see as obsessed with technology and uninformed about their pedagogy.)

So far, we are healthy, reasonably low-risk, and not killing each other. Hoping you are the same.

On-fucking-ward.

Man, talk about missing time. I'd love to think that aliens up there are just amusing themselves tossing us weird shit to handle. I saw a great FB cartoon the other day: one alien walks into a room where two others are sprawled on a sofa drinking wine and watching the earth turn on a tv screen. The first one says, "what are you doing?" and one of the ones on the sofa says, waving a glass, "We're watching Earth 2020. Shit is getting real!" and I laughed out loud. Vulcan, if you're listening, you know what to do.

So, spring classes ended with a whimper, students reeling from the shock, graduating seniors experiencing huge disruption in their lives and their plans. The school was generous to them, to be sure. And now, to see what remains, if anything, when fall arrives. The school is planning for scenarios that allow for 85% of our usual incoming class. i deeply doubt that will happen--I think we'll be lucky to get that. Maybe 65%. of course, that will mean "retrenching" and, probably, cutting faculty and programs (but not athletics or administration, oh no).

The sense of disorientation I've been feeling since March 18--lockdown in place since then, except for marketing and pharmacy and, once, Lowe's--has been coming in waves. After this what, seven weeks, I'm pretty stabilized and accustomed to the new normal, although I miss seeing my sister very much. And I have some bad days where I wake up in despair and stay there. But most of the days are good now, and I can see the end of the semester approaching, and then I have time to stop paddling frantically and take stock of this new reality.

My spouse's life has not substantially changed, except for his three hours on the road every day commuting to his office. He still wakes up, goes immediately to the computer, where he works until I call him for the breakfast I now seem to make every morning, and then he works until he feels like he should take a shower. And then he works until late afternoon, when we go outside for a drink of something, and then he's back on the computer long after I go to bed. I told someone the other day that this is the loneliest I've ever been in my life. I'm locked down with him and i see him more--as in my eyes actually register his presence--but this is no kind of "quality time" together, that's for sure.

I hear some folks are using this time to binge watch anything and everything. Oddly, i am not. I think I thought I would. But I don't have the energy to watch the end of Picard, to finish out last season's Discovery, or to pick up anything new. Turns out watching Amazon or netflix, with very few exceptions, tends to raise my anxiety level. I'm finding myself sinking deep into reading, instead. Old favorites, familiar genres, an occasional new author...but nothing too challenging. When I'm on Netflix I'm watching stuff that makes me feel good inside, which is usually Queer Eye. I can watch Colbert on YouTube but even he's having trouble keeping me.

Well, this week was mostly spending 4-5 hours on the computer every day, whether it's writing one of these interminable reports, or evaluating written samples of something, or.. after that point, my eyes no longer focus, so I have to step away. I'm usually ready for lunch and a nap of blinded exhaustion. At that point, mid afternoon, i can read actual paper text, and then I spend another hour on the laptop before opening the wine and investigating the fridge for dinner. I have several glasses of wine and then off to bed, usually between 8 and 9, with pretty unsettled sleep unless I take something.

I've planted more garden stuff than I usually do, feeling my mother's survivalist shove in the back of my head. Eggplants, the usual herbs, two grape tomato plants, some mint, some carrots, some radishes. It's too hot for lettuces, really, but my arugula is still fighting. I'm spending some time pondering what to do to expand the growing area back there. Growing anything at the pool house will be a waste of time, because DEER, but that's fine.

I'm going to try to write more often here. Seems like writing is probably a good idea right now.

I had another of my six month checkups at my oncologist's office yesterday, and I had to fess up to the depression. This immediately triggered a lengthy series of questions from the intake people, which were followed by even more questions from the PA I was seeing yesterday. This is all good, I'm not complaining. I'm glad they have these screening procedures.

The PA was more or less useless, which again is fine (chirpily suggesting yoga for my worsening depression...saying that running helps her get out of bad moods...). She's not supposed to be a therapist. But one of the questions on her form was "when was the last time you felt really happy?" And I had no answer.

That shocked me right there. I can't remember the last time I was HAPPY? That's not good.

But then I remembered. The last time I remember being really happy was right before my back surgery five years ago. When I was still a dancer. By the time I'd recovered enough from the surgery to return to the floor, D had found other things to put his time into, and although we ventured out a few times together and although I went to a few classes by myself, we never really went back. I've been grieving ever since.

Ugh. Well, now I have an answer to the question.

Yesterday I'd just had it and declared the next two hours to be me time. I bailed on D, went to the gym, blew out a LOT of stresses on the weights with Prince and Michael Jackson in my ears, felt normal...and then had the opportunity to realize how important all that was when a major water leak flooded our kitchen.

Our NEW kitchen. Yes, we have bought a second home. Closed on Friday afternoon. Cue excitement! It's really more rock-star storage for D's muscle cars that just happens to come with a house and a pool. (Oh, and a water leak.)We're not moving out there, just using it for a little stay-cation now and then.

And I'm utterly grateful for it, given hurricanes. We'll probably not "need" to evacuate but we're damn sure going to be there and not here on beachside.

And today, since we have breathing room--two days or more before we start to feel the wind--I am today checking email, stretching, doing some work, and basically trying to be normal. And astonishingly, my anxiety which has been sky high has damped itself down a bit. Go me.

But oh, y'all, there is some shit going on in the family. D's daughter is back in Florida. D's son is on his way in another month or two. D's ex wife is back in Florida as well. And you who know me know what this potentially toxic brew can do to D. We are resolute: no poisonous shit comes into our family. No manipulation, strategic vagueness, cagey answers, or other BS behavior.

All in all, it's been a fun few days. How are you?

Or maybe just listen to me rant about it? I dunno. Whichever suits you.

So we're house hunting, and we've set an upper limit on the price and established some essentials that are not negotiable. (Things like the right size kitchen, a pool, a 3 car garage for the hot rods to live in.) Those are things we came to agreement on easily. Then we started looking, and now, within the last week, he's been looking at homes that are well above our max price. I am pushing back because I am not interested in going above our agreed upon ceiling and I'm not changing my mind on this. This has had no effect on his interest in going to see the house.

So now he shows me a house that he really "likes the look of." It is substantially over our ceiling. And it has only a two car garage. Both of these we agreed would be deal breakers. But he wants to go look at it. I asked why and he said he likes the look of it. Well, that doesn't explain much now, does it. I actually don't like the look of it, because it's one of those golf course houses with a ton of lawn, no fences, and a whole lot of wall to wall carpeting. Which I hate.

Adding to my discomfort and anxiety is that the only time we can go see this house is tonight, at 530, after the owners have had a chance to get home from work and remove their pets (you can see two little doxies in one of the photos--so sweet!). So at 530 on a Friday evening, we're rousting these people out and costing our realtor her holiday weekend afternoon (and frankly ours, since it's date night), to roam around their house and then not put in an offer on it. This seems rude to me. He doesn't see it that way.

This situation is causing some conflict. His instinct is always to go bigger and better. Hell, just replacing the roof on THIS house turned into remodeling the back patio, the front patio, and the roof pitch. The price he initially told me? Yeah, the contract we signed is literally five times that price. Every single big thing we do, he feels compelled to make it even bigger. I do not like making things bigger. I like making things SMALLER.

And I am not at all sure how to negotiate this. I hate being in conflict with him and I feel like we've been tense with each other for weeks now. I don't feel like I'm a partner in this set of decisions, because things we agreed on are just going out the window when he feels like it. I don't feel like I can do that myself. It's like we agreed on things that represent the absolute minimum for him and the absolute maximum for me, and that's hard to make changes on.

Sigh. Starting to question.

So there's a life situation where one partner says hey! We should do X! and the other partner says hey! Good idea! Let's talk details!

It's all in the details.

After prolonged negotiations we're agreed on a new roof--not new shingles, you understand, a whole new roof, which will be taller than before so that we can slope down over a greater amount of space, thereby creating additional "living space" outdoors. To wit, a lovely 10x10 concrete patio in front that will be covered by said higher roof. I'm very good with this.

We stalled out on what to do with the back yard. Well, not STALLED but, well, not in accord. He wants a roofed enclosure that will block my ability to see the sky from the kitchen window. Not acceptable. I want a gazebo with a retractable shade cover that will...well, I can't remember what he didn't like but it, too, is not acceptable. So there's that. Fortunately we agreed to not take a step that we are not both fully committed to.

In other words, ugh.

They should pull the permits next week. A week or so after, construction. Three weeks of that. Then the inevitable aftermath: cleaning up the incidental plant damage, painting the house a new clean primer white, agreeing on paint colors for the house, figuring out things we fundamentally disagree on, the usual.

In other words UGH!!

It's all good. I have my head playing constant affirmations: We can afford this. These are changes I like. (They are, actually.)

It wasn't what I wanted to do in June but it's okay.

I'm still hearing Freddie in my head, can't you guess? (Of course it doesn't help that every time that ridiculous pika comes around Facebook and starts the Ay-oh! from LiveAid, I have to play it and giggle.) https://youtu.be/sl_4I7vLLc4


So. Bits and bobs of news.

A young feral mama has had a litter of kittens in my back yard. Again. She did this last year, too. She has found herself a little snug place against the foundation of the house and she's tucked in there with four adorable newborns. I am debating whether to try to trap her this year. I couldn't bear the thought of it last year but this year...maybe.

Last night we took the family to see the touring show of The Sound of Music. Lovely and well done. Astonishing voices. And the woman playing Reverend Mother was FANTASTIC. Wry, ironic, funny, heartfelt, joyous. The Baroness was miles away from the ice queen of the film. All the children were wonderful, especially the tiny child playing Gretel. The woman playing Maria gave it a decidedly different spin than I was expecting, which was great, but there was just zero connection between Maria and Georg, and that's a shame.

Mostly what I remember other than that is that I was petrified most of the time. All those people...I hope to god my fear of crowds isn't getting worse. I've never been afraid inside that venue before no matter how full it was, and it would be a shame to have to stop seeing shows there. Wine helped but not enough.

I don't see any point in commenting on national news other than to say that the long term toll of this dude who has usurped the White House is going to be terrible.

I went ahead and submitted my intent to go up for promotion to full professor. Big risk, too, since I've now committed to it without knowing for sure that I'll be approved. I swore I wasn't going to do that but there it is. I'm one publication short. I can pull my intent if I want to. I may have to, since the two articles I had out under consideration both came back with a polite "no thanks." Gah. Not even a revise-and-resubmit! Fuckity fuck.

Work continues. My teaching is good if not stellar, but the class is going far better than it has in the past, so that's good. My administrative stuff is starting to take shape and bear fruit. That's good too. I managed to catch myself making a TON of extra work for myself during the summer (for which I would not be compensated, even) and hauled myself back to reality with a thump. Like, what was I thinking there? Good for me.

We had a scare the other night when we realized that someone had gotten inside our back yard through a gate that's actually very hard to open. We didn't think much of it except to be pissed off, but then I learned from a neighbor that HIS yard had been broken into on the same night. So someone's casing beach houses, awesome news. D ordered a security camera setup, will connect it to floodlights on a motion sensor, and I'll probably feel a bit more secure.

Don't know if I've mentioned that my niece has moved in across the street from me, in my neighbor's rental apartment. It's a tiny but clean and pretty space, and this gives her a soft landing when it comes to living on her own. I'm sure my sister is delighted to be living alone again, but I also know she misses having her daughter around a lot. But this is how it works. I'm happy to have her across the street! Time to start working on my "cool aunt" points.

That's it. I'm seriously dehydrated after last night's terror and today my goal is at least a gallon of water. Also, a long walk, because it turns out that that kind of fear also makes my entire body tighten up. Bleah.

Happy Friday, my friends!

My brain is simultaneously on overload and bored beyond belief. D will be home Saturday night, gods willing, and that will return some measure of normality. Plus I miss the guy when he's not here, even if I get annoyed sometimes when he IS here. Plus poor little PeterPaws, who hasn't had a good belly rub in two weeks (I don't have the touch, apparently), is lonely.

I have gone to dance class for four weeks in a row now. It's too early to say I'm back in the habit but I'm certainly on my way. I've begun weaning myself off some crap I'm eating. (ok, it's wine. I'm weaning myself down from too many grapes too often.) I'm backing off chocolate, too. My morning routine is now about 45 minutes of meditation plus 10 sun salutations. Those are actually limbering me nicely, and the reward is immediate and long lasting, so I think I'll be able to keep that going. So all that is GOOD and I'm doing well.

And that's the update. Wow. Why do I even bother writing in this thing? I'm incredibly boring.

I made it through all holidays. Thank the gods. I also am on my way to North Carolina in about two hours for a conference--the same one I was hosting at my own campus last year at this time. WHY O WHY is this conference always the weekend before my classes start?? Terrible timing. Anyway, just this one last hurdle and then I can settle in and settle down.

My Charlie-Cat is now on sub q fluids. His kidneys are just not doing it for him anymore. 17 year old kidneys! No wonder. It's been a while since I needed to jab a cat with a needle and Charlie is so lean it's hard to find that little pocket on the back of his neck! But after doing it a few times, he's starting to settle and realize that he actually feels good during and warm after, so he's cool. Cooler than poor D, who will have to do this himself Friday night when I'm out of town. D's first attempt was not pretty. We'll see how this goes!

I joined an accountability group with some friends and by god, it got me to dance class Tuesday night, where I had a BLAST and wondered, as I always do, why I ever stopped going. I loved every moment, even when I grokked the realization that wearing my new practice shoes for two and a half hours wasn't smart. And I haven't lost too much ground, apparently, according to the more experienced dancers I was with, so...YES. This is my year. Fuck back surgery and chronic hip pain and leg cramps. FUCK that noise. I hope I don't wimp out next Tuesday. No, I won't. This is what the accountability group is for!

I'm off to the airport. I'll see y'all on the other side.