You Suck, March

I had a moment this morning to reflect on the past few weeks. I haven't been feeling well lately, and I recalled that about a year ago I found myself cursing the month of March and the challenges it brought. I also recalled that I had quite a miserable March, 2007. Is it the time of year? Coincidence? Perhaps month names that are also verbs are destined to suck.

This month started off great as I rode the high of my MFA acceptance through a fantastic and carefree weekend with some friends. The day we got back, however, we had to tend to a sick Starbuck. Some non human entity had been leaving strange pukes around the house, so we isolated the chief culprit, Starbuck. We didn't catch her puking, but in two days she didn't do any eating or drinking either, so we took her to the vet.

It wasn't good. She'd lost half her weight, and had a condition that necessitated immediate care. Over the next few days we agonized on how much money to spend in search of what was wrong and then how much to fix it. There were many teary nights and harried vet trips. When all was said and done, we were able to care for her at home: she required feedings every 4 hours through a tube run through her neck, as well as several medications doled out through the day.







(Click here for more information on what was wrong with Starbuck)

For the next two weeks the Mistress and I traded off waking up at 4am to feed Starbuck. Feedings take about a half hour, all told, and by the time I would get back to bed I was too awake to fall asleep quickly. Our sleep debts quickly began to compound until the two of us looked like the walking dead. I'd stopped caring to trim my beard and mustache, and the stupid mistakes I was making at work began to garner attention.

Thankfully our efforts and attention paid off and Starbuck began to eat on her own. We could cut back her feedings in order to encourage her to eat more on her own, allowing us to catch up on precious sleep.

The increase in sleep allowed me to regain my mental prowess, which upon its return, began to focus solely on my wait to hear from the remainder of MFA programs I applied to. The two schools that accepted me, the nice one in Seattle and the nice one in Boston, have not offered me much in the way of funding. Nothing from the school in Seattle, and the one in Boston offered a Graduate Assistantship position which, generous though it is, would barely cover my living expenses. For either school I would be looking at student loans in the neighborhood of $45,000 dollars. This is more than the $20,000 debt limit I'd set in my mind, so I'd been counting on one of the other four schools I hadn't heard back from to give me a good offer.

In the mean time, on the small chance that I did choose to go to the school in Boston, I thought The Mistress and I might as well go to the open house to see what's what. That, and I've never been around Boston. This past weekend we dropped Starbuck off with mom and headed north. Raucous P. L. B. Filibuster and The Big E share an apartment in a neighborhood of Boston and were nice enough to let us crash at their place for the night.

Of course, we had a fantastic time in Boston, and I liked the school a great deal. It's made the decision much harder, and every day that goes by I wait nervously for word from one of the remaining schools. It's hard for me not to assume at this point, however, that I'm not getting any other offers. The decision I'm left with in that case is presently tearing me up.

I'm only considering the nice school in Boston, as it's given me a better offer financially than the nice school in Seattle. So what if I decide to go? For one, I get to spend the next three years focusing on my writing. The school offers classes in many genres and types of writing, and I think I might also like to take a class on writing for magazines. Oh, and there was one about writing for columns that I'd like to take. In addition, they have a very tough teaching course that is required if you want a Teaching Assistantship. Less than half those that take the course are actually awarded a position, and it's decided by an interview system. This sounds intimidating, but I respect it. I think it's more fair to the undergraduates being taught and to the new teachers than other schools who throw TAs into a freshman comp course with little preparation. Of course, I don't know if I'd like to teach, but it is the one field that I would be more qualified to work in post MFA than I am now. The pragmatic side of me is very excited about that.

Specifics aside, attending would mean three years of challenges that would push me to grow as a writer and as a person. I would have fun with some good friends, and enjoy living in a culturally rich city. When all is said and done, I might have a chance at chasing down some teaching opportunities, and maybe I'd open up some other writing opportunities that I hadn't planned on. I'd also, however, struggle to make ends meet while at the same time trying to give my writing it's due attention. That is, after all, the reason for going in the first place. Also, best case scenario, I find some teaching jobs that pay just about what I'm making now (not a lot) in a place I'd like to work. That, however, assumes a lot. Funding for liberal arts programs is waning and I presume will continue to do so so long as this economic crisis is in effect. Other than that, I wouldn't be qualified for anything more than I am now, (not much), so I'd have to find a job doing what I could, probably still making about what I do now or less. My increased loan payments would make it difficult to make ends meet, maybe impossible, and could prevent me from saving money or taking out a loan for a car or a house.

So what if I don't go? Well, first, I'd have to stave off the waves of depression as I think about all the fun and excitement I'd be missing. And then the waves of depression that will come as I realize I've got to either find a new job (doing what?) or suck it up and keep working at the job I have now, which feels like a prison sentence. I mentioned previously that it wouldn't be so bad to move away and start over, find a new job, a new place to live, but such a thing is much easier said than done. Especially nowadays. I dread that the truth may not be so, but I can only hope that somewhere, out there, there is a job that won't make me question whether I should wake up in the morning, and I am desperate to know what that job might be and how I can find it. Getting an MFA lets me explore one possible avenue while allowing me to enjoy life and learning for a few years before I again face that dilemma. However, it might make for a harder life down the road, and with the economy where it is, does that seem very prudent? But would it be worth it for the happiness and the personal growth?

This is the impasse at which I find myself, and I... we... are very much awaiting relief. All advice is welcome.

April, save us.

Oh, and By the Way

The Mistress moved in about, oh, two weeks ago. She brings with her Katia, age 18

and Nova, age 10

And this, here, is the door we to put up to keep them all separated after Nova got a piece of Starbuck's nose.

They're both okay, but we're clearly going to have to do this the hard way.

Bathroom Report, Day 1

Slim Jim's been planning on remodeling the bathroom for some time now. He took the week off to work on the house, arriving late Sunday. He gave me the following options on the bathroom: do a little bit at a time to keep it functional/livable, or do it all at once to try to have as much done by the end of the week. Those weren't his words exactly. He thinks he can get it done in a week. Actually, I think he has to think that, or he will get discouraged. The week deadline gives him a finish line to run for. I, on the other hand, need to believe that he can't do it in the week. That way I'm mentally prepared when (if, but really when) it doesn't happen.

Yesterday marked the first day of work, and I came home to see the shower I bathed in just the previous night cut into pieces and stacked on my porch. By the end of the evening, the only thing left in the bathroom was a (thankfully) working toilet.

Starbuck was very good through all this. That is, until I came home. Me being in the room gave her permission under the cat code of conduct to explore, and she was very interested in the holes leading to the drop ceiling below. It had always been my plan to take her somewhere when Slim did heavy construction, so last night I packed her up and took her to my parent's house.

She doesn't like their cat. Big Orange, on the other hand, couldn't care less. He's just eating and napping as usual. Meanwhile Starbuck feels the need to hiss at his very presence. I feel bad for him, but so long as he keeps his whatever attitude, I think he'll be fine. She'll be fine, too. She strode out of her carrier like she owned the place.

I felt guilty leaving her, but dad said "you think that's bad? You just wait until you're dropping you kid off at daycare, or at the babysitter so you can go party."



Note the metal box on the right hand wall. That's Fussnpuss' medicine cabinet. I know it wouldn't happen, but every time I see it I imagine pushing on it and seeing it pop out on her side. I can't believe that's all that seperates our bathrooms though. No more maligning my neigbhor over the phone on the john.

Wishing You All The Best

Adventure Today!

Saturday night we "got some weather" in the form of a mess of sleet. I couldn't shovel it. I had to pick at it, then scoop the chunks aside. Yesterday it took me two hours to clear most of the driveway and the sidewalk in front of my house. I don't know what we did to piss off God, but it must have happened recently, because when I was a kid, I remember snow dammit. Not this two inches of Satan's own frosty brine from hell.

My town isn't famous for its street plowing. Also, it's on the side of a hill. This is fun if you're into staring out the window, waiting for something cool to happen. Not if you like to keep your premiums down. I'm fortunate enough to have off street parking behind my house. Unfortunately my only access to these spots is a one lane alley that runs uphill. Let's say that my house is 75% of the way up this hill. I only got my car 40% of the way up before I lost momentum. There was a set of well worn tracks that was mostly patches of slush and ice with some rare areas worn through to the pavement. I kept backing up about 20 feet and trying to get a run, but I never got as far up as I did the first time. I knew I should have gotten a better run from the start, but I didn't because I 1) foolishly thought the road would be in better shape than last night, and 2) was made nervous by all the damn kids screwing around in the alley as they made their way to school. I had to back my way down the whole hill and park in a lot that's about five minutes away by foot. Though this was all stressful, I don't think it would have been so bad if I didn't have to really poop.

I debated leaving my car in the lot against making another try before dusk, thinking the roads would have melted the most by then. My second attempt proved more fruitful, though scarier, as I floored it on the way up and made a 15 mph Hail Mary drive into my driveway through the uncleared ice.

Other recent adventures include: losing my ATM/check card, and ripping half my pinky toe nail off by stubbing it into the door jam (thanks Starbuck!).

The weekend wasn't all bad though. Got to have spur the moment dinner with old friends, watch The Office, Natural Born Killers, and Putney Swope with the Mistress, and I do believe we made some tea.

Impulse Buys, Gift Envy

Tomorrow is Dark Mistress Hawthorne's Birthday, and this morning I needed to run to the store to get one of her gifts. Unfortunately I slept late, which meant I had to scramble to get a plan together so I could make the store and make it home in time to make it to work.

I'm usually fairly immune to impulse buying, but occasionally the constant repression of my consumerist instincts results in a momentary lack of thriftiness. Today it took the form in a cat toy,

a poster frame,

and candy canes!


I know that Tarantino posters are so undergrad, but... fuck you, doubting internal monologue.

On a related note, my presents for D. M. H. are truly awful. I will let you know what they were later (she might be listening). Seriously, this is just about the worst birthday gift I think I've given. It wasn't so much a lack of time, but a lack of mental energy and clarity that left me in a lurch. I must redeem myself at Christmas.

A few questions remain: is mentioning this a calculated attempt at mitigating my girlfriend's expectations while garnering a modicum of sympathy? Perhaps. Will she still be my girlfriend come Friday? Probably. Will I try harder next time? Yeah, I think so. Will Starbuck help me wrap the presents? If by help, you mean be a colossal but cute pain in the ass, then definitely.

Like Sand Through My Fingers

I've not posted in two weeks because it's been a crazy two weeks. Not overly crazy mind you, but it was the holidays and all. Here's a bullet point style of what I've been up to.

PRE HOLIDAYS

I think it was Monday before Thanksgiving I decided to finally make cookies. I say finally because a year ago at least mom bought me chocolate chips, Reese's Pieces... chips, and Heath Bar chips. Though chocolate chip will always be my favorite, I went with Heath out of curiosity. The recipe was mostly peanut butter and lard, and I don't have an electric mixer. Just this little hand job. Wait. That doesn't sound right.



I figured I'd suck it up and do it like in the old days and all. How did people make cookies before electricity, right? It was so freaking hard to turn that handle that the mixer actually skipped a gear. This caused me to test it out of the bowl, which of course sent peanut butter batter everywhichwhere, evoking one or two childhood memories at least.

In the end though, I came out with a batch of cookies that were delicious. Out of the oven, at least. At room temperature, they were mediocre at best. I took some to the Dark Mistress's house for her and her roomie, and I took some home for my folks. I visited my folks yesterday and there was still one cookie left. I of course must face truth: if folk do not eat your cookies in two weeks time, they simply do not inspire.

HOLIFRICKANDAYS

I decided at mom's suggestion to take Starbuck to Thanksgiving with me. I was worried how she'd get along with Big Orange/Bad Puddy/Bad Boy/Hobbes/my parents' cat. His big and mellow (except around children) and was nothing but curious about Starbuck. Starbuck, whether it was because she was still in the cone or just being in new territory, did nothing but hiss. All in all there were no problems though.

I got into town early to see the old high school rivalry football game with some high school friends. I'm not huge into football but it was an exciting game. Plus I ran into a kid I used to be close friends with back in grade school, and it turns out he lives twenty minutes from me. We exchanged numbers, and I can't wait to catch up with him.

THE LONG WEEKEND
The day after Thanksgiving I took Starbuck in to get her stitches out, but unfortunately they said she wasn't as "closed up inside" as they'd like, so it was back home with a couple of staples, some antibiotics, and another week of the cone.

She got good at managing with the cone, so I let her have reign of the house. They gave me treats to wrap her pills in, but that only worked once, so I had to learn how to pill her the good old fashion "this is for your own good" way. (For those wondering, that is to say I cradle her in my lap, hold her jaw open with one hand, and drop the pill at the back of her throat with the other.) For being such a spitfire, she's also a real good sport.

I generally avoid anything Black Friday, but I saw one deal I couldn't pass up: 5'x7.5' area carpets for $24. Granted, there were only three patterns to choose from, but they were all better than monotone.

Saturday my old friends Bennington and Funk stopped by. (Bennington and I have known each other since we were wee, and Funk is her husband.) It was a surprise visit, and we ended up going out to dinner. Also, they were the first to sign my guest book/type writer, which I suppose makes it official.



Sunday I celebrated my birthday, though it wasn't my birthday, with the Mistress, my folks, and my folks' folks. For the most part, it was good times. I came into some money, which I decided I will hide so I won't use it to pay the bills. It will instead go towards the "I want an electric guitar" fund. Because I want an electric guitar.

Monday it was to Spanky and Zanzibar's house to meet up with Stankfoot and play some hockey and Warhammer. It was fantastic.

BACK TO WORK

Going back to work was harsh. I had early meetings all week and had to stay late a lot. Not much free time. That's all there is to say.

Tuesday I had plans to get lunch with the, uh, Templetons. They're both former creative writing professors of mine, and without going into great detail, know that they've influenced me a great deal. I've decided that I don't want to keep working my job, but I don't want to cut without a plan. I'd like to go back to school, but I don't know for what. Every time I make up my mind, I find myself discouraged a few months later by tales of what comes after. I went to college from high school because that's what I was supposed to do. I studied philosophy because that's what engaged me. I want to go to school again because I want to be working on and towards something that's enriching and engaging, but I'm not going to just wing it. If I go, I want to know for what and why.

I want to get the Templetons' perspectives on creative writing, MAs and MFAs, teaching, and the like. Unfortunately, they stood me up, so ?.

Also, Tuesday I bought a toy:



I've always wanted one. I used to set up labs of these for the high school as a summer job. I don't have cable, and I don't have any televisions. But for $20 I have an old computer with a DVD player in it that sits nicely right in front of my couch.

All week I was obsessed with the notion of installing Linux or BSD on it. Why? I'm glad you asked. The iMac I bought comes with OS 9, which is kind of old. Browsing the internet with it sucks, because it doesn't run any modern browsers nicely. With Linux or BSD, I could install free, modern, and more secure applications. But, mostly, it's because I want to prove I can.

Sometime during the week I also tricked out the coffee table so there wouldn't be a mess'o'wire underneath. Eye hooks to the rescue!



Wednesday I was late for a very important meeting. Like, thirty minutes in front of everyone on our staff late. To a workshop. But I was late for the best of reasons, I reckon. Just as I was about to leave, my neighbor, Mrs. Fussnpuss knocked. Her toilet was running and she couldn't stop it. While my father pointed out that'll make it hard to go to the bathroom, the fact of the matter was it was wasting a lot of water and would have continued to do so had I not poked around in there. The culprit? A strange mineral build up that kept her flapper from sealing.

He he.

And Friday Starbuck returned to the vet to get her staples out. She's back to her old self again, minus some ovaries, plus a gross scar.

Tonight

Today was the first, legit "me" day I've had since... I dunno. Stankfoot and I hit the Bell early, and afterwards I began doing the things I do. To be honest, I don't remember what all I did and in what order, but here's a short list: washed sheets and blankets, did a load of dishes, took all the boxes and crap in the living room to other rooms to be organized and unpacked (finally), unrolled new carpet 2, re-arranged some of the living room, drained the hose and shut off the water leading to the outdoor faucet, vacuumed living room, decorated my tree (tree courtesy of a Grandma, lights courtesy of mom, bells courtesy of D. M. Hawthorne),...

... rescued a sweet Medusa lamp from the basement, hung mirrors in the hallway, and hung a couple posters. The living room looks, well, respectable.

Like someone actually lives here.

Oh, and the cherry on top:

Who kicks ass? I kick ass! Well, maybe just a little. I almost can't believe it works. How well, we shall yet see.

Weekendery

As I said, Bixby and The Tzar were in town to visit. Not me specifically, but to make their way around town in general. Friday night, another college friend and former housemate Leggolamb was in town. She was meeting up with friends and wanted to see who was around and if we were interested in going out.

I got out of work early and just in time to welcome Bixby and The Tzar. We got them set up in the attic suite. The were understandably tired and went to bed shortly thereafter. I was feeling bad about leaving Starbuck, and I was feeling tired, so I called up Leggo and declined her offer. Then I poured myself a stiff Soy Russian (because my real milk expired) and watched 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Next day I woke up at noon, missing my company but catching up on much needed sleep I'd gypped myself on all week. Went to work, which sucked almost all around. Got out late, again missing my company. Leggolamb's plans fell through though, so she, Slim Jim, and I stayed up talking for a bit. Then we all went to sleep.

I only slept till 11:30 or so this morning, which again, was glorious. However, I missed the departure of Bixby and The Tzar, which made me feel like a bit of a jerk. If I hadn't stayed up late cleaning all week, I might have seen more of them. But then I'd have been embarrassed about the house.

There's a lesson in here somewhere. Unfortunately the genius of Kubrick is sucking up my reflective energies, so shrugs all around.

When Leggolamb's ride came I saw that it was snowing! The first snow of the year! This always excites me. Way more than it should.

Stankfoot came to town and he, Slim Jim, and I went to Taco Bell and kicked around. It was lovely.

While waiting for Stankfoot, Slim Jim and I tracked down and fixed some electrical gremlins. The light at the top of the basement stairs was out and it wasn't the bulb. Turned out to be a weak wire nut in the box the switch was in. Then, the plug my computer's getting power from has no ground. Plus, it was really touchy. Slim replaced the outlet and we tracked down the open ground to a box in the basement. There were five or six ground wires not really touching each other.

The guy who wired this place wasn't very thorough. As I said, all the smoke alarms have fresh batteries.

The big downer is there's blood on Starbuck's stiches. It could be from when I took her cone off and started biting at them. I stopped her right away but she still got at them a few times. Or, maybe it's from when she was playing and jumping around yesterday. She's getting awful punchy, being so full of energy but confined to one room. If only I had a door to the upstairs or something, so I could at least give her a whole floor.

I can't wait for this to be over and her to be all healed up.

The Dark Mistress just walked in! With a cornbread muffin! She's been away all weekend, helping her friend on a school project. I am off to eat this muffin.

Delicious.

Kitty Pity Pics

As promised.




She actually doesn't look all that pitiful.



Quite dignified, actually. She must be feeling much better.

I jinxed her

Starbuck now has a beautiful plastic cat bonnet. Watching her struggle around the room, bumping her cone into everything, then watching her flail to try to get it off was torture and kept me up past three. She seemed fine with it at first. Lying in a blanket right beside my mattress, she put up no resistance when I put it on. We even got to play just after. She kept staring at me with what looked to be her disembodied head while she'd lazily paw at the blanket I dangled in front of her. It was heart breaking but cute. Then came the moment when she realized that this cone was actually attached firmly to her. Kind of like that moment when folks first realize that mortality has a bead on them it's never going to loose, she freaked out a bit. But physically instead of existentially.

Well, who knows. Maybe existentially too. Maybe this was a watershed moment. Maybe it came to her in a flash: Hey, this guy's just fucking with me! What am I doing in this house? Why can't I ever get out?

I'll never know though as she hasn't been talking to me. Starbuck was always very conversational. She had inquisitive mews, assertive mews, WTF mews. She meowed during natural pauses in my monologue, and I always answered, pretending she said what the conflicting viewpoint in my head would have said.

You know, I would hate to see myself someday having to make a case for my sanity while a doctor holds a printout of the above in his/her hand.

I felt like a big softy, but the house felt very empty while Starbuck was at the vet yesterday. Very quiet, with no one to answer my once, and again, rhetorical questions. When I brought her home last night, the silence continued. It was just this morning that I got my first peep out of her, and it was wonderful to hear her voice again. I hope this whole experience doesn't leave her quiet and introspective. There need be only one fellow in the house like that.

I'd understand though, as the cage doesn't exist until we posit it as one, and that can be an unsettling realization. No amount of me telling her it's for her own good that I keep her inside could ever convince her otherwise. Maybe from now on she'll be my little Andy Dufresne.

I promise some kitty pity pictures later. For now, there's work to be done, and oatmeal to be eaten.

Big Day for Starbuck

This weekend almost felt like a holiday, considering last weekend I only had one day off, and I felt lucky to get even that. Plus, this week is the last full week until Thanksgiving Break, and that means good things for everyone. And by everyone I mean me, because I'm like that.

Saturday saw a productive day at work, which always feels great. Sunday the Mistress and I continued our mission to cross educate each other on our favorite shows. She's currently showing me the second season of The Office and the first/last season of Freaks and Geeks. I've got her a third of the way through season one of Battlestar Galactica. Then we visited my folks and our friends Bozzie and Mudskipper.

Then there's today. Today was to be my day. I'd been looking forward to it all week. My plans were insane in scope: I figured I could reorganize the entire kitchen, rearrange my bedrooms, reclaim my entire living room, or perhaps all three if I were focused enough. Really though, I was afforded this day because I had to stay in town, as today was the day Starbuck got her itty bitty kitty bits snipped.

I knew I was going to hit Taco Bell with my good friend Stankfoot, but after that, the day was wide open. Project one was setting up the 5.1 system I was gifted (thanks Stank). This involved running wires across the room via the drop tile ceiling, which was messy and tedious. I have been rewarded, however, with the aural fruits of six speaker sound first time in my life.

After that I ran some boxes down to the basement (other people's crap that was taking up space), then it was off to pick up Starbuck.

She was an ornery cuss, hissing at everyone except me from behind the slits of her carrier. I was comforting her when I got my shock: the bill was $336.

Now, I was expecting at least $150. And I was prepared for maybe $200. But I wanted to cry when I heard $336. I'm not exaggerating. I didn't know how to react, except to give the young lady my credit card, because I couldn't afford to take that out of my account.

I ran my credit card up when I was unemployed, and I've been struggling to pay it off ever since. I was damn this summer I could taste it until some shit went down with my old house, which I had to put on my card because I couldn't afford it. This vet bill more than doubles what I had left on my one card, which may not sound like a lot, but to me it is. I get paid once a month on the first. I have to guess how tight I'll be for the month in order to decide how much to put towards my cards because they are both due early in the month. On months I know I have a bit more leniency I put $100 towards each, which leaves me with a couple hundred after bills for gas and groceries for the month. Not having that burden would be such a relief, and I think I'm going to have a stiff drink to celebrate the day it happens. If it ever does happen.

But back to Starbuck, who had some real problems, having been cut open and what not. She was still obviously very sedated when I let her out of her carrier, as her whole rear end would list to one side or the other as she tried to walk a straight line. In addition to failing her roadside, she couldn't manage to cover her waste when going to the litter box. What she was good at doing, though, was licking at her sutures. No amount of yelling, clapping, or pulling her head away was persuading her. It was 7:57, the vet closed at 8, and I was on the phone asking if I could run over to get a cone. They stayed to give me one (though it was only 8:05 when I got there), but when I got home to put it on her, she was about to have a nap. I hope I don't have to use it. I don't want her to end up like this poor soul:



The rest of the night Starbuck slept and I set upon the kitchen with the fury of a madman so that I might have something to feel good about before I sleep tonight. I didn't get as far as I thought I could. I certainly didn't turn the whole thing out, but I did make a bit of progress though, and I think by the end of the week, if I'm diligent, I may be able to claim this kitchen as my own. I already reclaimed the posting area. This used to be covered with postcards and notes from past tenants/friends:



The numbers are calendar dates. When I get a bill, I plan on sticking it up there under the approximate time of month it's due, thus raising my awareness of when I gotta pay the man. This should be an improvement over my current I should check what's collected under my keyboard method. Yes, I know it's off center, but I didn't have scissors or tape, and I was on the phone when I made it.