Busy Day

Run into Serena at the park this morning--ground slushy, boots seem to have sprung a leak, Jenny being extremely pokey, and can't say that slept well at all last night--late to bed (after watching the oscars--eyes glued to tv set even though hadn't seen most of movies and didn't much care who won)--so late to bed, early to rise makes one maybe a wee bit grumpy and don't want to share feeling of grumpiness, so when see Serena standing in middle of field waving vigorously at me with throw toy, and when wave turns into a beckon, want to avoid conversation. Wave at Serena firmly and try to climb hill. Jenny sits down. Serena runs through snow, which looks dangerous--want to call over to her to be careful she doesn't slip, but don't, and she doesn't. She says she hasn't seen me for a long time. Say, No, and then can't think of another thing to say, and feel very rude. Serena kind as always, gives Jenny a treat, and thankfully ignores my lack of social graces. What follows is very quick sequence of events: Serena says she just saw her friend the editor the night before and was talking about me and the editor is expecting me to email her today. When get into work, do write the editor, including thumbnail sketch of book--brother and sister traveling together on archeological dig tourist trip to Cuzco, Peru, the poisoning by curare of Professor, the subsequent poisoning of Judy Maloney, and how the sister solves the mystery at the end. Within minutes receive email from editor who says why don't I send her what I have. I do send her what I have, not seeing any hitch in the plan until the messenger is well out of the building, carrying my manuscript through the slush. Alternate between visions of glory and excitement (this is why I was so interested in the Oscars last night! I am being prepared to win!--though this thought obviously delusional as have not written script, but instead murder mystery) and what tell self is the sober truth of the matter--book very poor and editor will certainly tell me so in regretful but firm tones. Invent speeches for the editor. Do not at all care for editor's tone and tell her so. Also, alternately, see self in minds eye receiving editor's rejection email with stoicism and resignation. Also see self responding to email with screaming and running through the halls, which am very impressed by, and think up many other equally shocking responses. Fantasies--both negative and positive are very consuming and am, for once, impervious to meetings, not needing to draw, pee, eat, or even leave. Am very busy living out alternate lives in head.

Busy Day

Run into Serena at the park this morning--ground slushy, boots seem to have sprung a leak, Jenny being extremely pokey, and can't say that slept well at all last night--late to bed (after watching the oscars--eyes glued to tv set even though hadn't seen most of movies and didn't much care who won)--so late to bed, early to rise makes one maybe a wee bit grumpy and don't want to share feeling of grumpiness, so when see Serena standing in middle of field waving vigorously at me with throw toy, and when wave turns into a beckon, want to avoid conversation. Wave at Serena firmly and try to climb hill. Jenny sits down. Serena runs through snow, which looks dangerous--want to call over to her to be careful she doesn't slip, but don't, and she doesn't. She says she hasn't seen me for a long time. Say, No, and then can't think of another thing to say, and feel very rude. Serena kind as always, gives Jenny a treat, and thankfully ignores my lack of social graces. What follows is very quick sequence of events: Serena says she just saw her friend the editor the night before and was talking about me and the editor is expecting me to email her today. When get into work, do write the editor, including thumbnail sketch of book--brother and sister traveling together on archeological dig tourist trip to Cuzco, Peru, the poisoning by curare of Professor, the subsequent poisoning of Judy Maloney, and how the sister solves the mystery at the end. Within minutes receive email from editor who says why don't I send her what I have. I do send her what I have, not seeing any hitch in the plan until the messenger is well out of the building, carrying my manuscript through the slush. Alternate between visions of glory and excitement (this is why I was so interested in the Oscars last night! I am being prepared to win!--though this thought obviously delusional as have not written script, but instead murder mystery) and what tell self is the sober truth of the matter--book very poor and editor will certainly tell me so in regretful but firm tones. Invent speeches for the editor. Do not at all care for editor's tone and tell her so. Also, alternately, see self in minds eye receiving editor's rejection email with stoicism and resignation. Also see self responding to email with screaming and running through the halls, which am very impressed by, and think up many other equally shocking responses. Fantasies--both negative and positive are very consuming and am, for once, impervious to meetings, not needing to draw, pee, eat, or even leave. Am very busy living out alternate lifes in head.

Winter Sloth

Because of cold (tell self), morning runs with Jenny have been a bit perfunctory--do not feel like staying out of doors too long and Jenny is all too willing to come back as soon as possible. We have developed a new routine of going straight to the kitchen to have our breakfasts after the run. Jenny has a small bowl of dry dog food. I have a large bowl of Greek yogurt (full fat) with almonds, raisins, and touch of honey. When I'm through with my bowl--have been known to use finger to get off as much of yogurt as can--place bowl on floor so that Jenny can finish the job. Or sometimes fry 2 eggs in large knob of butter--Jenny looks on in steely concentration. After eat eggs, Jenny licks plate. On very cold mornings, sometimes have appetizer of yogurt bowl (Jenny licks bowl) followed by 3 fried eggs (Jenny licks plate). Have been enjoying this routine--though perhaps enjoy not quite the right word when on several occasions notice Pants a bit tight or unfortunate time last week during yoga class when new fat roll on stomach gets pinched during twist--but put these bad moments out of mind when am in the middle of eating breakfast. All good things must come to an end. This morning, Jenny and I are caught. I have put breakfast bowl on kitchen floor she is mid lick when Dave walks in to the kitchen. He is not supposed to be up this early in morning. He asks, What's going on here? Jenny, very, very unhelpfully, makes snorting noise as she pushes bowl across floor with her snout, licking all the way. Say, lightly, that Jenny was just helping me with the dishes. Dave does not find this funny. Nor does he find it hygienic. Tell him that Dogs' mouths are cleaner than ours. He replies that this is an Old Wives Tale. Dog's mouths are full of bacteria, he says, Jenny should have her dishes and we should have ours. See that he is right, but do not know how I will explain this to Jenny tomorrow morning.

Wall to Wall Meetings

Have left poor blog unattended--as have left much else unattended--because of mandatory and debilitating schedule of meetings. But no (one thinks in the meeting) it does one no good to wish that one was not sitting in chair listening to people speak about budgets. It is a struggle to keep one's eyes open and also a struggle not to jump up on chair and hoot like an owl. This sets of fantastical and diverting train of thought featuring question of What would happen if...What would happen if I fainted? What would happen if I just got up and left the room and didn't come back? What if I passed a Funny note to the New Man (also sitting at the meeting and looking less than fully alert, have seen him attempt to take sip of coffee from his empty cup many times)? Thoughts revert to grimness of situation. On some level, tedium is probably good for one--suffering is good. Scold self sharply. This is not suffering. What if one was in Iraq? What if one had a tumor? (One begins to wonder if one does have a tumor. It is likely.) Lunch is provided at last meeting, no chips, which am very disappointed by, cookies are always to be avoided (Would wager money that if subject were blindfolded and tasted oatmeal, chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies, subject could not tell the difference between them--not even by texture.) Settle on ham and brie sandwich on rye and take 4 packets of mustard to try and kill taste of sandwich. Mustard sadly not up to the task: ham is bilious, brie tastes like Vaseline, and rye bread--the less said of the rye bread the better. Half way through sandwich, am utterly revolted and push plate away. Decide to draw. From mustard packet copy sketch of Heinz mustard jar. Own version of mustard jar extremely professional looking. Feel that a Hot Dog would go well with mustard, and attempt. Result very very phallic. Become afraid that neighbor has seen drawing, and briskly turn page of notebook, while turning hot and embarrassed. Mortification for once serves helpful purpose. Sit up straight and alert for rest of meeting.

Winter Low Point

Am walking down street on way to work today when see strange looking baby in stroller--sworl of black hair on top of head, very blue eyes, and is staring at me as though am strangest thing it has seen in its short life. Being stared at so intensely a bit disconcerting, and forget to pay attention to what is going on underfoot. Before know it, find self on dirty, icy sidewalk. Hip and left hand have taken brunt of fall. Baby cranes head around side of stroller and continues to stare. Get up quickly before anybody can offer to help, in fact, make vigorous effort to not notice anybody else around me. Hand muddy, but otherwise unhurt. Shove hand in pocket while walking quickly away. Once immediate feeling of extreme mortification passes, feel almost pleasurably embarrassed. While am at Murray's to get fortifying bagel and coffee (avoid l" (or variation, "ate it"; question: as in ate the ground?) Am sharply reminded that it is not socially acceptable to giggle to oneself in public--tee-hee a bit and woman wearing earmuffs, leg warmers, and purple down coat edges away. Do not care about her, though. Feel that--this probably unoriginal and stolen from elsewhere--feel that once have fallen, there is no lower to go. All else is up.

Valentine's Day

The world of development apparently very busy, as feel have not had a second to think about self (Question: perhaps for the best?) World of styling even busier, and so Valentine's day is entirely forgotten until afternoon phone call with Dave. Agree to menu (lamb chops, mashed potatoes, sauteed, wilted greens) and plan on meeting at apartment for Cozy homemade meal. Meal at home on snowy nasty evening, not at all an original idea, and Citarella is exactly like zoo. Hear woman on phone waiting in line for the fish counter saying, I'm at Citarella, it's really crowded! She repeats this sentiment very loudly several times--can't imagine what person on other side has to say to comment except, oh really. Brave butcher line and make it to check out line. While waiting, feel superior and disdainful about couple who have salmon in plastic container from pre-made section and who at last minute grab chocolate dipped strawberries from display--continue same train of thought until realize that am being nasty to the extreme and not in keeping with day of love. While waiting, cashiers constantly yell, Step around! Next customer step around! Reach head of line (step around!) and proceed to cashier. Tell checkout lady, I don't need a bag, if you could just fit it in here (vexing canvas bag), that would be great. Swiss chard (why Swiss?) potatoes, lamb, oranges and coffee, stuffed into bag on top of unidentified scraps of paper, collection of pens, uneaten orange, and calculator. Place book on top of pile and have horrifying vision of self as crazy old Greenwich Village lady (not the first time have had same thought--perhaps prescient?) Get home and rip off outer layers. In kitchen, peel potatoes and set on stove to boil; trim chard, slice garlic. When potatoes almost done, warm up broiler--old-fashioned kind that slides out from bottom of oven with a hideous squeal. Season chops and slide drawer in. Get started on cooking greens by first toasting garlic. Turn chops, finish greens, drain potatoes, and set them back on the stove to dry them out, then add cream, butter, salt and pepper. Chops are done. Take out from broiler to rest. Dave gets back from walking Jenny, both look frozen, and pours wine. Serve plates. Chops eaten very thoroughly--having learned from past experience, serve Dave two chops and self one. Dave eats the the easily reached meat and and then passes chop on to me. I tell Dave that he is missing the best part, the tail--the little piece of meat and fat that curls off the top of the chop. Dave shudders and says that he doesn't like that word. One I've eaten the tail and gnawed on the bones, chops are given to Jenny, who at first seems worried and sniffs at bones as if maybe they've been poisoned. Once she is satisfied that our motives are honorable, she retreats to corner of kitchen were every last scrap is licked off bone. For dessert, Dave has made a chocolate souffle, which is eaten with ice cream. Feel have eaten very well indeed, and sleep comes quickly and lasts long. Work from home this morning and have encore of same meal for lunch today, left over (fallen) souflee and heaping portion of ice cream included, telling self firmly that In This Weather one needs to eat heartily.

Urgent Message

Receive email from secretary in president's office. In email program, next to From and Subject line is tiny little envelope, closed when unread, and open when read. This envelope is also red, which always gives me a little jolt of excitement and fear--am to be fired? Is there a fire in the building? When open red envelope however, am sorely disappointed by contest--do not at all feel that request for meeting time availability a cause for any sort of excitment or urgency. Spend rest of afternoon composing scathingly satirical response to red envelope. Fear that this, like most other satirical efforts will go both unwritten and unread.

Feeling Sorry for Oneself

With Cindy Stevens gone on fundraising trip, have been extremely busy, staying late, jawing on phone, typing like a mad man, and not doing any exercise, so though am tired, force self to go to yoga class. Class nice, but strenuous and being quite sorry for myself on the way home from yoga--first because of hunger and exhaustion, and then when get off subway to walk home, problems compound. It is very, very cold outside, and windy. Have forgotten gloves, and this morning, messenger bag gave up the ghost, so am carrying canvas tote bag. Bag cuts into fingers and lose feeling. When get indoors, tips of fingers feel prickly. Ask Dave if he thinks ailment is a) frostbite b) carpal tunnel syndrome c) multiple sclerosis. He replies d) hypochondria. This is said kindly enough, but it is Jenny who provides true comfort. Present her with my fingers and she licks each thoroughly, after which feel much better. Have always maintained that though Jenny perhaps not book smart, is kindness personified.

eBay

Am perhaps a bit extravagant in maximum bids for eBay items (especially in case of Le Creuset skillet--had intended to bid $40, but accidentally put in $400, and win auction handily, though expensively) and end up winning all items except for smallest sauce pan. Michael-of-the-comments is indeed correct--taste is "heavy," and shipping costs are shocking. Also ought to--in the future--read fine print about how items will be shipped. Dresser is to be sent to nearest Greyhound station. Only Greyhound station that can think of is Port Authority, and do not relish idea of getting dresser from mid-town to Brooklyn--rather the contrary--but am, on the whole, pleased with prices and winnings and call Dave to tell him the good news. He is not as enthusiastic as would have hoped--is a bit reserved, in fact. Take offense and ask him What's wrong? Nothing is wrong, he just wonders were we are going to put the dresser and the chair. And why do you need another skillet? Explain all with perfect reason and intelligence. He replies with what at moment perceive as venom and disdain that he wonders if we could have discussed the furniture pieces first. Reply sharply that Know he will like what have bought. Add semi-hysterically, I can't live with a dresser whose drawers don't work! To my embarrassment, chin wobbles and voice breaks as continue in same vein. Dave apologizes and asks is Something Wrong? Reply, No. After outburst, go to Murray's Bagels, where purchase cinnamon raisin bagel with butter, coffee with cream, and--last minute impulse buy--new item that have never before seen at Murray's but which excites and pleases me--chocolate pudding. Go back to office, close door, and pack away treats with single-minded chewing. As finish up, am buzzed by Oliver, who says he has Cindy Stevens on the phone (she is in California on a fundraising trip.) Tell Oliver to transfer her--as she is being transferred, spy big glob of pudding on top of pudding container and go at it with tongue. Hello? Hello, are you there? Cindy Stevens asks, at which am mortified by slurping noise that surely she had to have heard, and revert to difficult emotional state. Get trough conversation with Cindy Stevens and then call back Dave. Tell him that I am the one who needs to apologize. Me and the SAD are calling to explain. Dave is understanding. Says this morning on the subway he had awful moment when he started to wonder what would happen if there was a war in New York. Then after he got off the train he got a bacon egg and cheese and coffee with two sugars and a donut for dessert.

The Contessa's Wedding

Have lunch with the Contessa today, who says that the New Man's sister is helping her plan the wedding. Ask how it is going. There is a pregnant pause. The Contessa pats her lips with her napkin and says that the sister has very Interesting ideas.

Styling

Receive call from Dave who says that he booked a job. What kind of a job? Styling--he's dressing everybody in an American Express ad campaign. Am very glad for him, and for me, but small, unpleasant part of self is peeved that mere minutes after deciding new path, doors have been flung open and instant success achieved. Have always held image of self as capable of such a path--i.e. bluffing way into job and finding what have always been intended to do--image sadly not yet borne out in fact. Believe have mentioned before mortifying day when lied and said could work espresso machine at cafe in London and was defeated by machine and fired by 2 p.m. in afternoon. Am roused from pitying thoughts about self when Dave tells me how much he is to be paid. Am shocked and become only glad for him and me. Open up eBay and immediately bid on 91/2 inch Le Creuset red skillet , 3.5 quart sauce pan, also Le Creuset, but blue, Faux Bamboo Hollywood Regency Chair (worn cushion), and white dresser in style of Dorothy Draper (legs a bit nicked up and missing drawer pulls).

Monday

Not news that it is cold today, but feel compelled (why?) to complain to all who will listen that office nearly as cold as it is outside. Oliver takes pity on me and offers use of small heater he has under his desk. Tell him that couldn't take his heater--I'll be fine. He says, Your hands are blue. Can only admit the truth in this and take heater with expressions of gratitude. Feel have misjudged Oliver. Plug in heater. Air coming out of heater smells like burning hair and feet roast, but is nevertheless an improvement. When regain feeling in fingers (accomplished by hunching close to heater and rubbing hands together) become very busy with work email. New keyboard--left by last inmate of office--is ergonomic and sort of bulbous and curved, so that it feels more comfortable in a way, but also like have merged with computer. Suffer fantasy that have become part robot and that fingers not actually moving, but am, in fact, making words appear on screen by force of brain waves manipulating electrons. (Feel that Electrons sounds official.) Am roused from fantasy by telephone call from Dave, who says that he's thought of something he could do. What? He could be a stylist.

Bad Behavior

Am attempting to get ready for big meeting, am in the middle of three emails, and realize that both shoes have come untied when Dave comes by new office yesterday bearing giant bouquet of peonies and vase. Gape, and attempt to express adequate appreciation, but phone rings and answer. It is shrew from the President's office, voice like a chilly hamster, asking for information on potential donor and reminding me that she asked for same 2 months ago. Remind her in turn that did not work for development office 2 months ago. Conversation continues in same vein as Dave sits in chair and waits for me to be done. As hang up phone, feeling warm and irritated, Oliver pokes head in door and says that I have somebody waiting. Ask, Oh, who is it? Oliver replies, shrugging, Oh, I don't know, somebody. Say, attempting to be civil, Does somebody have a name? Ha, ha. Whoa, says Oliver, That's a little hostile. Am red hot mad to roots of hair. There is a tense standoff. Dave attempts to diffuse situation by asking, Where's the best place to get water for these flower? Unjustly give him wrathful look intended for Oliver. Dave leaves very very shortly thereafter, looking bewildered. Somebody--turns out to be person from mailroom with package for me and who needs signature--signature which could have easily been provided by Oliver. Continue to be intensely mad until am seated in meeting at which point waves of remorse wash over body. Feel that for the good of humanity, I ought to be shot, at least, and probably worse, and know that can't apologize until meeting is over.