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  • a first

    "Too much work, too little time" isn't something that I've experienced often. Until last year, the only reason it ever happened was because I procrastinated too much and left a lot of work to do in very little time (examples that come to mind include researching, writing, and editing my senior thesis in three weeks, and studying for the bar exam in three weeks). I've learned over time how to cram a lot of work into a small amount of time, and assume that work will fill up whatever space and time you give it, and consequently I have always given it as little space and time as possible, under the assumption that I would be able to scrape something together once it was absolutely necessary, after the procrastination generated enough self-inflicted stress.

    Last year, around this time, I experienced a different and more troubling source of stress -- for the first time, I actually had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and felt like the work was accumulating faster than I could learn how to do it. I guess it was more like "too much work, too little understanding." It felt like even if I had tons of extra time, that I still couldn't be sure that I could actually figure out how to do the work. They had warned us at orientation that working here is like that -- the beginning is like trying to drink from a fire hose -- but I didn't really believe them, since I've never experienced that kind of overload before. It was pretty demoralizing and terrifying. But then after a few months, I got the hang of it enough that I could keep up and eventually got ahead of it again. For a while.

    Now, however, I'm having another first. The work has gotten more complicated as I've been ramped up to more complex products and deals, so I'm mentally running a bit again to keep up with it, and there's also suddenly a ton of it, so the sheer volume has become a bit daunting. It's a scary combination, to have "too much work, too little understanding, and too little time" all at once.

    (And rather unusually, I had hard deadlines this week -- a press event and a TV spot -- with lots of separate moving pieces to get in place by very specific times, all of which was complicated by an 11th hour email outage at a company that is even more email-dependent than most.)

    Every time I think I've gotten the hang of my work, I get more, or it gets more complicated, and I have to start running again to stay ahead of some new kind of tidal wave. I suppose the upside is that it will be a while before things get routine and boring. Still, I wouldn't mind a little less panic for now. Two launches down, three to go, with a dozen other deals to fit into all the "spare time," somehow.

    Ack.

  • quick, hurry, before they get m--

    Just a quick post with a few random things.

    (1) Another spin on the merry-go-round. I'm back on meds for now, at a very low dose, and supposedly a kind that has super-low side effects, and ostensibly more for anxiety than for depression. My "super-low side effects" include severe nausea and frequent dry heaves, and really bad sleep problems, even with sleeping pills. This is one of the main reasons why I hate meds. Hopefully short run, because it's more for anxiety than depression (or at least that's how my shrink is framing it), and I'm hoping my anxiety-inducing circumstances will change soon, so that there won't be as much anxiety.

    (2) Big launch for one of my products coming up on Tuesday, which has meant lots of deals have been going on and now (four days before launch), people are finally panicking and asking why they aren't all signed and closed already? Um, one of them just started negotiations yesterday, but OK, I'll work over the weekend to get your launch done in time. And then I can go back to all the other products that I've been putting off, but which also have launches coming up soon. Sometimes I love my job, but sometimes I don't think my job loves me.

    (3) The longer I live in California, the more I miss New York.

    (4) I've never been an early riser, but when I do wake up, I was always able to just get up and get out of bed without lounging around. I often did lounge around, but for fun, not out of necessity. Lately, when I wake up (and I very rarely set an alarm, so I'm waking up naturally), it's nearly impossible to get out of bed without spending at least 20 minutes psyching myself up to do so. And then sometimes I get so exhausted that I sneak in a nap in the middle of the day. Or I'm able to get up, but the prospect of putting on my public face seems so distasteful that I work from home, instead, so that I can still get things done without having to look at people (people that I actually like) and ask them how they're doing. It's odd, sometimes, but the hardest part of working is not always the work itself. Depending on my mood, sometimes the act of steeling myself to be part of the normal world is much more daunting than the prospect of having to close too many deals in too little time.

    (5) Weight and body image are funny things. I'm 5'6", and I have pretty much zero control over my weight, although it's a number I watch with mild, intermittent interest. Working out, eating healthily, not working out, eating junk, not eating, sleeping more, not sleeping, nothing really seems to influence my weight with any consistency, and yet my weight can be anywhere from 103 pounds to 124 pounds. I'm at 114 now, but I think I actually feel fatter than I did when I hit 124 a few years back. I didn't think I was any thinner than usual when I was 103, until my pants started falling off. It's sort of odd, because it makes me realize that my weight can vary by 20 pounds, and I really have no idea why it's doing so, and I don't really see that it's happening, except for when I step on a scale. Our perceptions of ourselves are so unreliable. If I can't even see what I look like physically, even with the help of mirrors, photos, and scales, how am I ever supposed to figure anything out that actually matters?

  • random thought before bed last night

    At the end of the day, I'm not afraid of dying, not as a general idea.

    What I am afraid of:

    Dying randomly, in a time/place/manner that isn't of my own choosing and design. I think this stems from my dislike of unpredictability and lack of control. I don't want some random bus or criminal or disease to catch me unawares. I want it to be my decision, my way, whether that means the deep blue of the ocean or the deep sleep of pills.

    Dying alone, in the sense of being the only person present (not in the philosophical "we are all alone in the world" sense). I'm not sure why this is, but some part of me is desperately afraid of the thought that when the time comes, there won't be someone holding my hand, someone for me to look at and love.

  • patron saints

    I went to Catholic high school. I am an atheist. I sometimes wonder if the two are related.

    At lunch yesterday, we somehow got on the topic of patron saints. Patron saints have always amused me. In some cases, their "causes" make sense. Someone cures someone else of blindness, and she later becomes the patron saint of the blind, which I can understand.

    Others make less sense to me.

    How, for instance, do you become the patron saint of advertisers? And did you know that they're touting this guy to be the patron saint of the internet? He died in 636, hundreds and hundreds of years before Al Gore invented the internet. Imagine him sitting up on some cloud somewhere for over 1,300 years, just chilling and playing foosball with Jesus and doing yoga, or whatever they do up there, and then someone comes up to him and says, "Hey, when people have problems with the internet, you gotta listen to them and help out." "Huh? What's the internet? I'm still trying to figure out what a printing press is." Prayers to that guy are probably even less effective than conversations with call centers in India.

    And then there are the saints with really random lists of causes that they represent. I guess the good ones all got taken, and they have to take whatever bits and pieces are left. Check out this list: babies, blacksmiths, boatmen, cattle, chicken farmers, children whose parents are not married, fugitives, Ireland, Leinster, midwives, milk maids, nuns, poets, poor, printing presses, sailors, scholars, and travelers. Seriously? First of all, how did she get stuck with that pile of miscellaneous causes? Secondly, do all of those people know to whom to address their prayers? "Hm, I seem to be having an issue with my printing press. Thank goodness for St. Brigid." I can't count the number of times I've heard someone say that. On the other hand, maybe she's the perfect patron saint for the baby of an unmarried, poor milkmaid and a traveling, scholarly poet, who was delivered on a boat by a fugitive Irish midwife.

    I love that there's a patron saint against procrastination (who also happens to be the patron saint of hackers and programmers). I wonder if he tackles his prayer inbox immediately, or if he puts it off till later and just ends up writing a computer script to address the prayers when they come in. (On a side note, if he's the patron saint of programmers and hackers, wouldn't he be the more logical candidate to be the patron saint of the internet than the other guy?)

    If I ever get sainted, I will be the patron saint of atheists, small dogs, and bacon. I doubt I'll have to put up with many prayers, which would make it the best saint gig ever. Good thing I'm not Catholic, or I'd probably go to hell for laughing about this stuff, eh?

  • prime time?

    When I turned 27, I nerdily noted that I was a cube. 28 was perfect. 29 was prime. 30 was 30. As of this past Wednesday, I'm prime again, but I actually don't really like the feel of the number 31. It's hard to explain -- some numbers are good, and some are bad, and admitting that makes me sound like I have Asperger's. Still, though, I'd rather be 32 -- a nice, round, power of 2.

    Nerdiness aside, I've been struggling a bit lately. I've been meaning to blog about it, but haven't really been sure where to start, but I just sent an email to a good friend in New York, and as I wrote it, it seemed to cover at least some of the territory I've wanted to chart out in a blog post, so I'm just going to edit it and put it here. It's not the best-written post, since it is really an email, but at least I don't have to figure out what to write. (I have another stub of a post that I will eventually flesh out and put up -- it's more of an abstract reflection, an attempt for me to visualize what's going on in my life in less personal terms. I think I'm a little too close to myself to really understand what's going on at first glance.)

    ***

    I think I was somewhat naive, believing somehow that moving to California would do nothing but make my life better, all around. I figured I'd be moving back to my native country, closer to friends and family, doing cool work, etc. And it's true, but I didn't really take into account some other factors: most of my good friends don't actually live in California -- they're mostly in New York, DC, and Europe, and most of my pre-existing local friends and family are settled down -- they don't live near me, and they have their own lives, which are very different from mine. The people I've gotten to know here are mostly work friends, and although I really like them and see them a lot, they are still work friends, which keeps some minimal barrier of propriety in place. Living in the suburbs among people who are leading responsible lives also limits the amount of contact you have with people you're getting to know over time, so you don't get to know them as quickly.
     
    I had gotten used to college, law school, single life in New York, and then expat life abroad, where people are unattached, and it's all like college, but with more money -- you see people often and get to know them quickly. Under those circumstances, a year (which is about how long I've been here) is a perfectly reasonable time frame in which to outline and fill in a lot of the details of a new life. It's just frustrating me that things are slower here, and that people's lives are focused on things that are not that central to me at this point: careers, families, real estate, and outdoor activities.

    I do enjoy a lot of the things I thought I would enjoy: I like my job, I like being near my sister, I like feeling like less of an outsider, I like the weather. My new, local friends are really good people, and Superman is sort of the biggest and best unexpected surprise. I guess I just feel like I'm expected to live a more grownup life than I was before, and I'm not ready to do that yet -- what I would get (and what I'm getting) doesn't always seem like a fair trade for what I'm giving up. It's immature and selfish, but I kind of do want it all. I want my freedom, but I also want the benefits of being in one place. 

    This sort of came to an inner head this week, and it's hard to explain this anecdote in a way that makes sense. No one has ever thrown a surprise party for me -- I'm a take charge, organize the masses kind of person, when it comes to social activities (but only when I'm in a social mood), something I never really realized until late in college. I organize my parties, I organize other people's parties -- I get impatient with other people's hesitation, sometimes, so I just do it.
     
    This year, however, I was really waffling about having any sort of birthday celebration (I even worked from home on my birthday to avoid the risk of an awkward cake and lunch), because the date had drawn very close, and I couldn't really think of what I would want to do and with whom -- Just work people? It would be hard to get my city friends and family to do anything, since they live 45 minutes away and have lots of kids and responsibilities. But a work party seemed kind of lame. And what to do with the people? At short notice, it's hard to get headcount, and without headcount, it's hard to figure out what to do, and without knowing what to do, it's hard to decide whom to invite. So I just left it.

    And then Superman tried to schedule a surprise dinner, but was unable to keep it a secret, and told me about it. And I was already feeling really out of sorts about the whole thing, and when he told me who was coming (which he had determined partly based on who is local, and partly based on the limited contact information he had for people I knew -- almost all of my friends whose information he has are work colleagues), it was a mix of some of my actual friends from work and a few people I don't really know that well (but still like in a vague way) from work. Other friends from work weren't included, and neither were my non-work friends. I just couldn't imagine going to a small dinner with such a truly random group of people.
     
    Does this make sense -- if I'm celebrating something personal, it should either be a small gathering of the people I'm actually close to, or a larger gathering that can include more casual acquaintances, but a small gathering that includes casual acquaintances just seems really awkward. I think normally it wouldn't have bothered me much, but I was already feeling really torn and undecided enough about the whole thing that it stressed me out, and we ended up canceling it the morning of. Which may have seemed odd to some of the invitees, but I was actually worried that I would not make it through the dinner with grace.
     
    Can you believe that something as innocuous and sweet as a surprise dinner would leave me feeling so unhinged? (I've probably blown my chances of ever having one again). It seemed disproportionate, even to me, but I couldn't help it. I like feeling like I have control over my life and what's in it, and I've been feeling like I have very little control over key parts of my life lately -- most notably, I have a busy social life, but not a deep one. I used to have both, and I miss that dearly.

    Superman was really nice about it -- he didn't seem to mind at all that he had gone to the effort to try to organize something nice for me (and he hates organizing things), and yet I awkwardly canceled the whole thing. We went out to a low-key dinner, just the two of us, instead, that night, and then last night, we went out to what he had intended as the "real" dinner -- we went to a fancy restaurant, and it was a nice evening. I think if I went to the trouble of organizing something for someone, and they just threw it all away, I would be pretty annoyed. On top of all of that, he still got me presents, which he hasn't given to me yet, because he is still waiting for one of them to come. I am half-ashamed and half-charmed by his goodness through this silly drama, none of which is his fault, and which really is a result of my own inability to accept the way my life looks right now.
     
    I feel awful for thinking that -- my life looks great. I have a job I like, a great boyfriend, good friends all over the world, a reasonably functional family... I guess I sort of feel like my life is spread out over a large part of the world, and not enough of it is here with me, and I don't have deep roots here, but don't know if I ever want deep roots here (or anywhere) -- I mourn my lack of roots, but flinch at the thought of having any.

    Sigh.
     
    I feel like I'm going crazy, and that I have these pointless, perceived crises every so often, but will never be able to avoid them unless something about my internal makeup changes on a fundamental level.

  • another trip to the allergist

    It's been a while since my last post, and... I got nothin'. Work, Superman, dog, friends, family, everything is the same.

    But I'll tell you a quick story about my second visit to an allergist.
    Recall the first such visit, when Allergist #1 promised me that all of my problems in life would go away if I used a nasal spray. Turns out that if I want to get the full allergy shot treatment (which can take 3-5 years), I have to go to Allergist #2, because she is in my HMO network. 
    It took over a month to get an appointment. How can it be so hard to see an allergist?
    I waited. And waited. And finally, it was time.
    I went in and told Allergist #2 that I'm allergic to cats, and that's really the only allergy that bothers me, since Superman has a cat. I said that I wanted to get shots in order to desensitize me to cats, and if she needed to test me for a cat allergy, she could. She asked me if I was allergic to anything else, anything at all? Sulfa drugs and dust. She asked if I wanted to be tested for any other allergies, and I said no. She hesitated and said that she preferred to run the full 42 allergen test, so that if they found any other allergies, they could throw them into my shot cocktail, and I would become less allergic to those things, as well. I repeated that I was only allergic to cats and dust, and that I didn't care about anything else, but she seemed to have her heart set on the full test, so I demurred.
    The test involved getting numbers written all over me in black marker, then getting 42 tiny little stabs, then waiting for fifteen minutes to wait for any allergic reactions to develop. 
    So I waited, wearing a silly paper shirt that was open in the back, and resisted the urge to scratch a couple of places that were getting pretty itchy.
    Allergist #2 came back in and looked over my back, made a few notes, then said, "Well, it looks like you're allergic to cats and dust."
    Um. Thanks. That was really enlightening. 
    Now I get to go in for shots twice a week for the first six months, then once a month after that for the next few years. Secretly, however, I am hoping that we can either find someone who wants an old, sick cat, or that the old, sick cat will just hurry up and move onto her next life. Allergies aside, I am so not a cat person. At all. So it's even more annoying that I have to get all of these stupid shots for a creature whose existence I don't even appreciate.

  • there was no rain in spain

    I'm finally going to do a post on Spain.

    Superman and I were there for a week, and Kanga and Roo joined us for the last four days.
     
    We started off in Salamanca (with a side trip to go sample some ham):
     
    IMG_3324
    View from our hotel room
     
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    Me being especially dorky
     
    IMG_3306   
     
    We drove up to San Sebastian, where Kanga and Roo met up with us. We had a lot of wine and tapas, and saw the Guggenheim in Bilbao, the city of San Sebastian, and a cathedral that showcases chickens in honor of a 14th century chicken miracle that occurred there.
     
    DSC_2472  
    View from our hotel
    (Photo courtesy of Roo)
     
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    Looking back at San Sebastian
     
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    I made Superman wear the flowers; it wasn't his choice
    (Photo courtesy of Roo)
     
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    Sculpture in front of the Guggenheim Bilbao 
     
    IMG_3355
    Guggenheim in Bilbao
     

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    Roo, Kanga, Superman, and me, pretending to be the Guggenheim
    (Photo courtesy of Roo)
     

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    Hamming it up with Kanga after wine tasting in Rioja
    (Photo courtesy of Roo)  
     
    We also went to two ridiculously amazingly fantastic restaurants while we were there. Photos of the food can be seen here. I know that not everyone cares enough to look at plate after plate of food, but it was one of the driving factors in planning our trip. Kanga, Roo, and I have been trying to work our way through the restaurants listed in this article, and have made it to the restaurants in Belgium, France, and now Spain (I've also made it to the one in England). Of the four that I've been to, I'd say the one in Belgium and the one in Spain were two of the best three meals of my life, and the other meal that we had on this trip to Spain would round out the top three. Absolutely mind-blowing food. Each meal involved 10 or 15 plates per person, and took almost five hours. Yum.
     
    It was really great to be able to spend so much time with Superman without having to worry about work, pets, gardeners, traffic, and other parts of normal life. And it was so fun to spend a few days with Kanga and Roo, and to do it on a trip -- we rarely traveled with all three of us together, so that was pretty exciting. What was especially good about the trip, however, was seeing how easily Superman got along with my friends. College friends, law school friends, random friends, old coworkers, and the whole Z-town crew -- it was probably the easiest and most successful Boyfriend Integration Project I've ever undertaken.
     
    Kanga told me that one of our other friends, Banker, had a little party at his place after Superman and I had left town. Kanga and Roo were both there, as was Chiro (the ex before Apple). Banker was the one who introduced me to Chiro. Kanga and Roo were talking about me and Superman with Banker, and Banker exclaimed, "Yeah, I like him, he's so much better than the other ones she's dated. Finally!" And then he remembered that Chiro was there, and realized that he was listening to the conversation. Awkward. But true.
     
    We've been dating for eight months now, and it's silly, but I'm feeling a little bit proud of myself, because it's been eight months, and I am still crazy about him. Probably crazier. That hasn't happened since 2FX. What can I say, having a long attention span has never been my strong point in normal life, and that often seems to carry over into relationships, as well.
    Isn't he awesome??

  • which one

    I wasn't really sure which blog to post this on. It kind of fit both. I'm still conflicted.

  • poem

    I came across this poem by Amado Nervo (in English translation from Spanish), and it expresses things that I know to be true when things are going well, but have trouble remembering when things aren't going well. If this is how I feel in the end, then I will be content. (The Latin phrase "artifex vitae, artifex sui" roughly translates into "architect of life, architect of destiny.")


    At Peace

    Artifex vitae, artifex sui

    Close to my sundown, I bless you, life,

    Because you gave me no false hope
    I never suffered impossibly
    Or worked without hope of reward.

    And now that I have beaten my path to its end I see,

    That, truly, I was the architect of my destiny
    And I know that, if indeed, I was able to extract taste, the honey and the bitterness of things,
    Then it was only because I put the honey and bitterness into them in the first place.
    Whenever I planted rose bushes, I always harvested roses.

    And yes, after my flourishing, winter will follow,

    But you didn’t promise me an eternal spring.
    And, yes, it’s true, our troubled nights were long,
    But you never promised us only the good nights
    And some nights were so serene and blessed.

    I loved, I was loved, the sun caressed my face.

    Life, what do you owe me? Nothing! Life, you and I are at peace.

  • world peace is a nosespray away

    Before I make a big, fat post on Spain, a little anecdote that amused me.

    I went to see the allergist that we have on campus at work. Superman has a cat, and I've also been having some seasonal allergy problems, even though I've never had seasonal allergies before. The allergist explained that allergies are cumulative, and that if I'm pretty allergic to cats (which I am), and mildly allergic to some sort of grass or tree that never bothered me before, the combination of the two could push my allergies to the point that the grass or trees would trigger a stronger allergic reaction than they normally would on their own.
    She then asked me a lot of other random questions, and this was the point at which I realized that doctors really do try to explain everything within the confines of their specialties. Did I ever wear braces? Yes. Do I get thirsty at night? Yes. Oh, I get up to eat, drink, and pee in the middle of the night -- that's very unusual. Yes. Really, earplugs and eyeshades are often necessary to keep me sleeping the minimum hours necessary, which seem to be greater than those required by the average adult? Yes. Hm, do I have congested sinuses that make me breathe through my mouth? No, my sinuses are really quite clear, and I often breathe through my mouth while falling asleep because I just think it's more comfortable and less noisy. Do I have trouble focusing at work? Yes, but that's another condition. Do I ever get depressed or have mood swings? Yes, but that is also unrelated.
    After a long interview with all of these questions, she decided that my allergies clog up my sinuses. My sinuses make it hard for me to breathe through my nose. I sleep with my mouth open because my nose is clogged, which disrupts my sleep and forces me to wake often to rehydrate and do other things. My poor sleeping habits cause me to have attention problems and difficulty regulating my mood.
    She then told me to use a prescription nose spray which would apparently clear my sinuses and thus fix every other problem in my life. It is a magic nose spray. I tried it, and the only thing it did was to keep my nose clearer when I was having specific allergy attacks.
    I had been hoping that it would work so that I could then start a group to ship it all over the place to cure all of the world problems and bring about world peace.
    Unfortunately, it appears that we will have to rely on diplomacy, rather than nose sprays, when trying to achieve world peace. As for my own issues, I'm not sure that the miracle spray is what I really need to fix my entire life. Maybe I'll go to a dermatologist, and she can prescribe some magical lotion that will fix everything, instead. Not a proctologist, though. Definitely not a proctologist.