The Opposite of Up

It's been a down day for me so far. There've been a few moments of up (finding out that the Sharks beat the Avs in game 5, discovering that the Choco bin for the Flavia machine had been refilled, re-reading my sabbatical journal and laughing out loud over Al's sneeze out the window), but mostly I've just wanted to be anywhere but here (work). I actually like this part of the work cycle, because it means lots of "scenario testing"... which basically means I just get to update my website all day. I just wasn't that interested in spending an entire Saturday updating my website, when I've already been doing it for the past four days straight.

I did find a bunch of photos of my place in Truckee that I'd forgotten to upload, and it was rewarding to get that work done, so it's not like I couldn't find things to do. I'm just burned out. I feel a little guilty about being burned out, too, because I had 6 weeks off this year, and most people didn't. I couldn't possibly be as burned out as they are. How W manages to stay so cheerful day after day, I'll never know; J, my boss, is more typical: he's about to lose it. The poor guy is actually overdue for his sabbatical, and he's having scheduling conflicts all over the place. If he doesn't get some time off soon, I fear he'll implode.

I had a clue that today might be bad when I found myself ironing just to relax last night, but since I really don't know what day it is anymore, I figured maybe I wouldn't notice that it was Saturday when I got to work. It almost doesn't matter that it's Saturday, though: I think I'd feel this way if it were Tuesday. I'm probably also a little bummed because I don't have Annie to keep me company today. She hung out here yesterday while waiting to go to a 3:30 vet appointment in San Carlos, and we had a lovely time together. (I think it also made Al feel a bit more confident about bringing her and Elmo to my house sometime.)

OK, the other reason I'm not feeling up right now (and it has nothing to do with work): I have a bachelorette party to go to tonight. It's for a good friend, so I wouldn't miss it for anything, but I'm worried that because I haven't had enough time to myself lately I'll be rotten company. Anxiety over going out + anxiety over being good company + not enough sleep = volatile Lori. And not to be totally girlie and stupid, but I'm feeling fat, too. Arrgh! I hate to admit I have weight issues like almost every other female on the planet, but I do. I'm getting no joy out of eating these days, and yet I'm gaining weight. There's a big clue that I'm eating crap food, no?

Can I just go home now and crawl back in bed with Al & Annie & Elmo?

Two Truths and One Lie

Last night I went to a dinner designed to gather a bunch of people from five different startups/nonprofits and their significant others. After each dinner course, we were asked to get up and shuffle ourselves, so we'd sit with different people each time. And when we were done eating, we played a game: each person was to get up and tell three things about him or herself, two of which were true, and one of which was false. Everyone else would guess which item was false.

It was interesting to see which items people chose to tell (which I think was the point of the game: everyone would not only learn two facts about each person, but also gain some insight into the personality of that individual based on the things they chose to reveal, or the way in which they revealed them). For example, one of the organizers offered these three things: "when I was 16, I had an affair with a 34 year-old professor, I was a cheerleader, and I scored above 1400 on my SATs." Most people guessed that the affair was a lie, because who has professors when they're 16? I guessed that the cheerleader bit was a lie. She smiled and sat down and said, "it was the SATs, folks."

Another woman stood up and said, "when I was a child, I went to nature camp, I went to space camp, and I went to computer camp." (She did not go to space camp). Al said, "I once bowled 173; I used to run dental floss through my nose and out my mouth, just to prove I could do it; and I once ate 24 potstickers at a single sitting." I guessed the potstickers, and said so to the camp woman. She agreed that sounded false: "who counts potstickers?" Everyone else guessed the floss. It was the potstickers.

When all the employees of the different entities had had a go, I stood up and said, "When I was 2, I named the family labrador Diesel. When I was 22, I worked as a secretary at a law firm in New York City. When I'm 42, I hope to run a bed & breakfast inn." Not a single person guessed that #2 was false (I was working at the World Bank in Washington, D.C. when I was 22), but the woman who'd sat next to me during the dinner course turned around and said, "you don't want to run a bed and breakfast. It's too much work." Well, considering that you didn't guess right, my guess is that you don't know much about me.

It also occurs to me that she might have imposed her own concerns on me—running a bed and breakfast would be too much work for *her*, so she assumed it would be for me as well. It seems that the guessing was in some ways as revealing as the offering of truths and lies.

The Joy of Ironing

I like to iron. This is not a trait I inherited from my mother, surely; she hated ironing. (She does love to vacuum, though—she shivers with delight at the the sound of dirt being sucked up—and I admit that I also like the effect after vacuuming, as well as the sound. It's amazing how clean a room can look after a quick hoovering, as the Brits would say.)

But back to ironing. As I said, my mom hated it. She also wasn't a fan of soap operas, but when we were little my sister and I were under the mistaken impression that she loved both because she used to watch One Life to Live while ironing. We found out later that watching something so ridiculous helped her keep her mind off the odious task at hand.

I don't watch soaps while I iron (or even TV); instead, I listen to the Rennaisance dance music I favor on my morning walks to work. It's a real treat to hear it eminating from my computer speakers or the stereo system, instead of through headphones. (I can only wear headphones for so long before my ears begin to ache.) And it's especially nice to hear it early in the morning before Al is awake.

But why ironing? Would it be as enjoyable without the lovely music? Maybe not, but there's something to be said for the crispness of a newly-ironed sheet, the smoothness of a neatly-pressed t-shirt, the sleek lines of pressed trousers. Something so satisfying about watching the wrinkles disappear under the clouds of steam, and about having everything in your closet lie perfectly flat. I guess it's possible that I did inherit this trait from my mom, since getting a thrill from watching wrinkles disappear under a hot iron is roughly analogous to getting a thrill from listening to dirt being sucked up a vacuum hose.

It occurs to me now that my mom might make a good partner in the B&B/Inn business. With my love of laundry (yes, I enjoy that part too) and ironing, and her enthusiasm for cleaning (it extends beyond vacuuming), we could run a pretty ship-shape establishment. Hmmm, wonder if I can talk her into moving to California, or if her small town in Maryland needs an inn?

The B&B Dream

I arrived at my cube at around 10:20am yesterday to find a box from Amazon.com on my desk, and I ripped it open eagerly. As I extracted the two books inside from their encasing bubble wrap, I said to my boss (with whom I'd been discussing hockey a few minutes before), "oh yeah, and I'm giving notice." He looked at me strangely. "In a year or two, I'm going to quit." I held up the two books: How to Start and Run Your Own Bed & Breakfast Inn, and So You Want to Be an Inkeeper.

"I've never heard anyone give two years notice before," he said, shaking his head. Then he noticed the titles. "Oh, hey—are you really going to do that? My wife's dream is to open a bookstore in Tahoe." I guess I'm coming late to this "chuck it all and do X" dream thing (Al's is to own a golf course).

I guess for a while now it's been hard to imagine doing anything other than what I'm doing. Well, I've definitely had positions within my team over the past five years that I really didn't enjoy, and that I wanted to move out of. But all of those five years have been spent with that same team—one I love so much that I really couldn't consider leaving, even when the position I was in wasn't right for me. I remember making lists of the reasons to quit, and the reasons to stay during a particularly tough time. I had nine items under the "reasons to quit" column, and one under the "reasons to stay column". That one was that I loved the team I worked with, and the product we worked on, and for that one reason, I stayed.

And now, I'm doing the work I've really wanted to do for four of the five years that I've been on this team: engineering. I'm loving it; it is such a thrill to *make things work*, to conceive of a feature, spec it out, incorporate feedback, and then actually make it a reality. I even love fixing bugs! (Actually, sometimes I think I like fixing bugs even more than building features.)

So why am I starting to indulge this B&B dream seriously now, when I have what I want at work? Well, I *did* give one to two years notice, so I haven't declared myself ready to leave just yet, but I am starting to conceive of a time when I might leave. I think part of it has to do with my sabbatical, which I took last summer; suddenly, for the first time since a particularly unmotivated summer during college, I could conceive of not going into the office every day, or perhaps not even working at all. Work, which had so defined me, suddenly didn't. I think it's also partly about setting goals. I've never thought of myself as particularly goal-oriented, but it seems a natural thing that when you achieve one goal, you automatically formulate another to aim for. I finally reached the holy grail of my entire twenties and early thirties: a job I love, and that supports the lifestyle I want. So now it's time to dream of something else. Perhaps it's not about "chucking it all and doing X". It's about embarking on the next adventure.

DIY Disasters

I'm waiting on the platform in San Antonio for the 9:23am train. I'm taking the later train this morning because I'm a little behind on my sleep, and every little bit extra helps. Yesterday I woke up at 4:15 to drive down from Truckee to my office in Redwood City. My plan was to leave the house at 5:00, but due to dressing distress, I didn't leave until 5:30. I hit Bay Bridge traffic just after crossing the Carquenas Bridge, so I didn't get into the office until 9:45; still, 4 hours and 15 minutes isn't that bad, considering. I left work early (5:30) so Al & I could go to the Sharks game (Game 3 in Round 2 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs—hands down the best hockey game I've ever been to), and then we raced from San Jose back to Redwood City to play in our own game at 10:20. The other games ran a little late, so we made it in time to play all three periods. We got home at about half past midnight, which accounts for the sleepiness. Yesterday was a *very* long day for me.

But being sleepy isn't what I have on my mind this morning: do-it-yourself projects are. I like trying to do things myself; if I find that a project is too complicated or difficult, I'll call an expert, but I usually try to do it myself first. This, however, usually results in disaster, or at least minor mishaps. I was describing this weekend's adventures to Al over AIM yesterday, and he said it sounded like a sitcom. I said we could call it Lori Does it Herself, and each week the cameras could follow me on another DIY escapade.

Watch as Lori attempts to fill 'er up on the way to Truckee, and has the nozzle shoot out of the tank, spraying her pants with gasoline! Shiver with suspense as Lori climbs back behind the wheel: will she pass out from gasoline fumes? Smile with relief as Lori rolls down all the windows and opens the sunroof... and then again at her cleverness when she dons a knit cap to warm her freezing ears!

Episode two: Lori tries to wash her car with no access to an outdoor spigot. Chuckle knowingly as Lori hooks up the hose to the kichen faucet, turns on the water, and then climbs the stairs to the driveway to see if anything comes out. Wait to see if Lori figures out that gravity is working against her when only a trickle escapes from the hose. Follow Lori back down the stairs to find water spraying straight up out of the faucet like a fountain, flooding the kitchen counters. Wonder what's going through Lori's head as she mops up: is she formulating Plan B? What will Plan B be? Aha! She's got it! The five-gallon bucket! Will she think to fill it from the bathtub, or will she go with the hose again? How will she ever heft it over her shoulder to rinse the roof of the car without drenching herself? Tune in next week to see if Lori is sopping wet from the chest down, or... well, no need to tune in next week: you already know what happens.

And, during sweeps week: Lori attempts to install a mailbox. A 42" 4x4 post, a 30 lb. bag of QuickCrete, another five-gallon bucket, and no safety glasses. Need we say more?