I almost forgot to mention that it is my birthday next week. July 16th. I will be 27. Which all women of a certain age now know is the beginning of the end, fertility-wise.
Happy birthday to me.
My birthday is usually pretty stinky and depressing. Being in the middle of the summer, most people seem to be on vacation. And, being the modest person I am, I do not demand or organize any sort of celebration. So, it usually passes quietly, with a few cards and a few gifts and a nice dinner somewhere. Although, I feel strangely guilty about the gifts. Surely people have better things to spend their money on.
But, despite the guilt and malaise, I am grateful, and I treasure these tokens of thoughtfulness and friendship.
It is a strange feeling though, difficult to reconcile, wanting more and less at the same time.
"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)"
[From Song of Myself by Walt Whitman]
Funny how writing about my birthday leads to quoting a Transcendentalist. But not really odd. Interconnectedness and all that. A too lofty ending, yet apt.
I need someone to entertain me.
Usually, this is not the case. My beloved Poops once said that I have an uncanny ability to sit by myself for hours and do nothing. Not exactly sure what she meant by that, but I choose to interpret it this way: I have a very rich inner life. Meaning I can usually entertain myself with my own thoughts. But that ability dries up when it's overused.
Which is happening now.
Which means I should get a library card. Books are refreshment for the depleted psyche. God knows I can't afford to buy any books.
Which means I should get a job. Working on that. Maybe I will hear today.
Which means I should get off my ass and do something instead of waiting by the phone. But I can't seem to muster the energy.
Which brings us back to the original problem. Something has to give, eventually.
These came by way of my daily AWAD emails. They struck me as true and instructive, so I wanted to pass the word.
Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves. -Carl Jung, psychiatrist (1875-1961)
Worry is interest paid on trouble before it comes due. -William R. Inge, clergyman, scholar, and author (1860-1954)
The last post was so morose, I feel like I should write about some good news. And maybe some bad news too. You can't have one without the other! (O how metaphysical I am...)
First the bad news: It is stinking, nasty, sweaty, soul-crushingly HOT! Energy... sapped... more lemonade... stat!
Now the good news: I had a very good second interview today with a very cool publisher. There are 2 other people coming in for the 2nd round too (the number of the day is 2, apparently), but it sounds like I'm at the top of their list right now. I'll know by the end of next week. I'm so excited about the opportunity, and I will dance with giddy glee if I get it. Advancement! Benefits! Coworkers! Oh, how I pine for them...