For a while now, I have been meaning to call my cable company to see if I can get a better rate for my internet service. Internet has been my only service all year, and I felt I was paying far too much. I have also been having some trouble at home with my cell phone lately (it suddenly decides it doesn't want to receive a signal or maybe the tower decides not to send it), so I thought it would be nice to have home phone as well, but I didn't want to pay an even higher monthly bill. Unfortunately, this company owns the cable lines in my apartment complex, so I have no real options for which company I use. I hoped that a rational call to the company would help, but I was wrong.
I am not an especially confrontational person. I let things go, I don't stress overly, and I accept what comes. I learned in college that this is the basis of stoicism, and I embrace that attitude. Whatever comes, comes; it'll all work out eventually. However, with work being as it has been lately and my income dropping a little more than I would like, every little bit of money saved helps, so I thought I'd try. I'm also not always comfortable making demands over the phone, but I realized this was really the only way to attempt this process.
I called on Monday and spoke to someone who seemed to know what he was doing. After a bit of back and forth (I'm not really a negotiator), I was to have internet and phone service together for a few dollars less than I have been paying for internet alone. I counted that as a win because I actually made the call and instigated some changes. Frankly, I was gloating about it a bit (even though it really only mattered to me).
That celebration did not last long.
I was supposed to receive a call about an installation appointment for the phone service on Monday night. That call didn't come then or yesterday, so I decided to try this morning. First, I attempted the chat customer service, thinking it would be faster. It wasn't. The person's responses took forever, and he found that the work order for the phone service had been cancelled but couldn't tell me why, so he suggested I call the local office, which was exactly what I was told the only other time I've tried their chat customer service. (I've decided this function is worthless for this company, and I told them so in my survey, as though that will do any good.)
So, I called. No one ever could tell me why the order was cancelled, and I was especially annoyed that I hadn't been informed of the cancellation. Anyway, today, I was much more forceful than usual, due to my increasing annoyance and the run-around I should have expected from a cable company. First, I spoke to someone to set up the phone service; she couldn't do anything about the price. Then I called a different number that took me to the same automated answering system that never has the option I need. That sent me to a nice lady with an Indian accent in the billing department; she couldn't do anything either. I needed Retention, which she told me is not accessible from the main menu; you have to speak to someone who will forward you to retention (how is that efficient?!).
At that point, I finally made it to the person I needed. I believe it was the same person who had set everything up for me on Monday that was subsequently cancelled. I chose to act like I didn't realize it was the same person (he'd probably never remember anyway), but my irritation and frustration were almost certainly coming through. Anyway, after more haggling, he gave me a slight discount and the phone service for no additional cost. I'm going to have internet and home phone for a few cents less than I've been paying for just internet. Yippee.
While I ended up with what I wanted (if not necessarily for the lower price that I wanted), I feel defeated. This is a system set up to make people give up and take what they're given. They have us in a choke-hold, knowing that there is very little we can do about any of these situations. The phone system is frustrating. The reps are nice enough, but they make the same placating statements repeatedly and overtly try to butter callers up. If ever I live somewhere I have a choice, I'm fairly certain I will try several other companies before coming back to this one.
I briefly thought about doing what those in the gaming world call "Rage Quitting," where a player gets frustrated or angry and quits the mission or group/guild without putting any further thought into it. I am not that spontaneous, though, and I'm too logical to cancel something that both Squeaky and I need. What would we do without internet?
I'll be fine, and my frustration will ebb pretty quickly, but, lucky you, I decided to write this blog entry immediately after getting off the phone. Sorry.
UPDATE: And continuation of frustration and rage...to avoid the delay of installation and the problems of setting up an appointment, I was told I could pick up what I needed from the local in-person customer service place and install it myself. So, after driving to the other side of town and standing in line for twenty minutes, I was told that what I had been told was incorrect and, because of certain details of my account's origins, I will have to have a tech come and install the stuff. Also, I couldn't set up an appointment at that time because one of the people who accessed my account this morning (probably that same guy from the call on Monday!) still had my account open, so he couldn't access it while I was there to make any changes. Now, I have to attempt to call them later to see if they can get into my information and give me a blasted appointment! This is so much more trouble than it's probably worth, but I'm determined to see it through!
*Sigh*
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Saturday, November 23, 2013
"Little" Sisters
My baby sisters are all grown up!!
I know, I know, this is not exactly the day they suddenly become adults (they're now 28, after all), but their birthday always makes me think of when we were all little and how much has changed since then. Their birthday, far more than my own, makes me sentimental, a little sappy, in fact.
Recap for those of you don't know my family. I am one of five children, the middle child, technically, and my two younger sisters are twins. "PJ" is eleven minutes older, but we always say that "BB" just wanted a little alone time before joining the rest of the world (she probably wanted to make a grand entrance). They are not at all identical and, personality-wise, are extremely different. However, they go together like peas and carrots (HA! I had to do that one for some reason), and I cannot imagine one without the other. And I can't imagine who I'd be without them.
They were my only playmates when we were young. We grew up in a house just off of a highway, with no other children around, so we had no one to entertain or be entertained by except each other. The best part of having two siblings was that there was always someone who would want to play if I wanted to, and they could entertain each other if I didn't. I always had someone to fight with, boss around, and laugh with. We had as many issues as any collection of siblings, but the fact that we're still so close shows how we came though it...alive, relatively sane, with great senses of humor.
I took my role as "big sister" extremely seriously in spite of the fact that I was practically a baby myself when they came along (only 18 months). I don't remember ever not having little sisters. They taught me so much and keep teaching me new lessons all the time. Here are a few of them:
Patience: With two little sisters who are enthusiastic, natural performers with high embarrassment thresholds, and a tendency to tell every little detail of every story they wanted to tell, I learned to be patient. It didn't happen quickly or easily, but I now think I have quite a bit of patience.
Confidence (or disregard for strangers' opinion): Again, because my sisters love to entertain and don't mind doing so in the middle of a busy grocery store or when walking down the street. Seriously, my sisters regularly break out into song for no reason; it's like living in a musical sometimes! I used to be extremely embarrassed at moments like those. I couldn't imagine what horrible ideas other people had of us. Then, one day, I realized I didn't particularly care what they thought. Not only were they strangers whom I'd never see again (probably), but my sisters were having fun and, eventually, so was I. Once my sisters' "embarrassing" antics stopped bothering me, I stopped worrying so much about embarrassing myself. I'm not saying I never embarrass myself--I definitely do--but it doesn't affect me as much now as it once did. I don't dwell so long after the fact.
Willingness to accept affection: I used to be extremely uncomfortable with public displays of affection, even hugs. Unfortunately, my sisters have always been extremely affectionate and fond of human contact. Hugs, snuggling, holding hands: they couldn't accept that I didn't want any of it during my teen years. Over time, with their persistence, I once again enjoyed receiving hugs from friends and family. I don't necessarily offer the gesture, but I don't mind participating. (Weird way of putting it, but that's me!)
Courage: My sisters (all of them, but this post is about the youngers) are among the bravest people I know, and they have made me extremely proud of them.
PJ battled for her life as an infant after a complication and ensuing surgery, but her innate stubbornness pushed her through and continued pushing her. PJ has always been the renegade of the three of us, never willing to settle for less than she had planned, never willing to take action unless she had decided on it first, never willing to be told what to do, but we always knew where she stood. She's still that way to some extent, but she's mellowed. She takes advice and suggestions, but she will do what she knows she needs to do to succeed. At the beginning of this year, as many of you know, PJ joined the Army to play her flute (and about a million other instruments) for the band. She was having trouble finding a way to play professionally, so she found a way to do so and serve her country. Joining the Army was probably one of the scariest choices she's ever made, but she has thrived. She made a decision, stuck with it, and proved doubters (*cough*drill sergeants*cough*) wrong. She tackled the physical requirements, the professional requirements, and the personal concerns she's run into, and she still has a positive attitude. I could have never done it, but I knew she would.
BB has always been the most loving, giving person I've ever known. She has tons of friends and thrives when she has people around her, people who love her and she loves. When she graduated from college, she could have stayed in state, near family and many friends. Instead, she chose to follow her life-long dream of living in New York City. She wanted to perform on Broadway, live in the midst of all that craziness and culture, and have a busy social life. She didn't know many people in the city at the time, had few job prospects, not even anywhere to live for certain, but she went. And she has been enormously successful. She realized she didn't want to perform for her living, and she found a great job that has enabled her to live in a pricey city for around five years and still have fun outings with her friends (and give her family members a place to stay when they visited!). Now, she's made another difficult decision to move back to her home state, return to college, and become a teacher. That's another life-ling dream she's had, to teach history and drama (she hopes). Big moves, big dreams, and she's made so much of them.
My little "thithters" don't lose their dreams; they find ways to make them happen! They are amazing in so many ways, and I hope I grow up to be a little more like them someday.
Happy Birthday, PJ and BB!!! I love you!
I know, I know, this is not exactly the day they suddenly become adults (they're now 28, after all), but their birthday always makes me think of when we were all little and how much has changed since then. Their birthday, far more than my own, makes me sentimental, a little sappy, in fact.
Recap for those of you don't know my family. I am one of five children, the middle child, technically, and my two younger sisters are twins. "PJ" is eleven minutes older, but we always say that "BB" just wanted a little alone time before joining the rest of the world (she probably wanted to make a grand entrance). They are not at all identical and, personality-wise, are extremely different. However, they go together like peas and carrots (HA! I had to do that one for some reason), and I cannot imagine one without the other. And I can't imagine who I'd be without them.
They were my only playmates when we were young. We grew up in a house just off of a highway, with no other children around, so we had no one to entertain or be entertained by except each other. The best part of having two siblings was that there was always someone who would want to play if I wanted to, and they could entertain each other if I didn't. I always had someone to fight with, boss around, and laugh with. We had as many issues as any collection of siblings, but the fact that we're still so close shows how we came though it...alive, relatively sane, with great senses of humor.
I took my role as "big sister" extremely seriously in spite of the fact that I was practically a baby myself when they came along (only 18 months). I don't remember ever not having little sisters. They taught me so much and keep teaching me new lessons all the time. Here are a few of them:
Patience: With two little sisters who are enthusiastic, natural performers with high embarrassment thresholds, and a tendency to tell every little detail of every story they wanted to tell, I learned to be patient. It didn't happen quickly or easily, but I now think I have quite a bit of patience.
Confidence (or disregard for strangers' opinion): Again, because my sisters love to entertain and don't mind doing so in the middle of a busy grocery store or when walking down the street. Seriously, my sisters regularly break out into song for no reason; it's like living in a musical sometimes! I used to be extremely embarrassed at moments like those. I couldn't imagine what horrible ideas other people had of us. Then, one day, I realized I didn't particularly care what they thought. Not only were they strangers whom I'd never see again (probably), but my sisters were having fun and, eventually, so was I. Once my sisters' "embarrassing" antics stopped bothering me, I stopped worrying so much about embarrassing myself. I'm not saying I never embarrass myself--I definitely do--but it doesn't affect me as much now as it once did. I don't dwell so long after the fact.
Willingness to accept affection: I used to be extremely uncomfortable with public displays of affection, even hugs. Unfortunately, my sisters have always been extremely affectionate and fond of human contact. Hugs, snuggling, holding hands: they couldn't accept that I didn't want any of it during my teen years. Over time, with their persistence, I once again enjoyed receiving hugs from friends and family. I don't necessarily offer the gesture, but I don't mind participating. (Weird way of putting it, but that's me!)
Courage: My sisters (all of them, but this post is about the youngers) are among the bravest people I know, and they have made me extremely proud of them.
PJ battled for her life as an infant after a complication and ensuing surgery, but her innate stubbornness pushed her through and continued pushing her. PJ has always been the renegade of the three of us, never willing to settle for less than she had planned, never willing to take action unless she had decided on it first, never willing to be told what to do, but we always knew where she stood. She's still that way to some extent, but she's mellowed. She takes advice and suggestions, but she will do what she knows she needs to do to succeed. At the beginning of this year, as many of you know, PJ joined the Army to play her flute (and about a million other instruments) for the band. She was having trouble finding a way to play professionally, so she found a way to do so and serve her country. Joining the Army was probably one of the scariest choices she's ever made, but she has thrived. She made a decision, stuck with it, and proved doubters (*cough*drill sergeants*cough*) wrong. She tackled the physical requirements, the professional requirements, and the personal concerns she's run into, and she still has a positive attitude. I could have never done it, but I knew she would.
BB has always been the most loving, giving person I've ever known. She has tons of friends and thrives when she has people around her, people who love her and she loves. When she graduated from college, she could have stayed in state, near family and many friends. Instead, she chose to follow her life-long dream of living in New York City. She wanted to perform on Broadway, live in the midst of all that craziness and culture, and have a busy social life. She didn't know many people in the city at the time, had few job prospects, not even anywhere to live for certain, but she went. And she has been enormously successful. She realized she didn't want to perform for her living, and she found a great job that has enabled her to live in a pricey city for around five years and still have fun outings with her friends (and give her family members a place to stay when they visited!). Now, she's made another difficult decision to move back to her home state, return to college, and become a teacher. That's another life-ling dream she's had, to teach history and drama (she hopes). Big moves, big dreams, and she's made so much of them.
My little "thithters" don't lose their dreams; they find ways to make them happen! They are amazing in so many ways, and I hope I grow up to be a little more like them someday.
Happy Birthday, PJ and BB!!! I love you!
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Tyranny of Time!
That's right, folks...it's time, once again, for my bi-annual rant against the time change.
Today, we had returned to us the hour that was stolen early this year. The same hour we will lose again next March. Why?!?! Why do we continue to go through this? As far as I can tell, these time changes bring us very little. Sure, we have a little more daylight at the end of the day in the summer, but the days are longer anyway, so do we really need to alter time to make them even longer? Who needs the sun up after 8:00 or 9:00, anyway? Then, in winter, when we return to normal time, the days, already becoming shorter, grow immediately more depressing. I leave for work in the dark and return home in the dark (I'm exaggerating, but it certainly feels that way). Having time move backward one hour doesn't help.
Daylight Saving Time was, I suppose, a useful idea once. It helped during WWII, when people were afraid of air raids and had to keep their lights off. More useable hours in the evening allowed everyone to do what they needed and avoid adding to the danger of attack. Along these lines, DST in now supposed to help us save energy by having more waking hours of daylight, but I seriously doubt it works. I still use lights when the sun is up, and most of my power consumption is through electronics anyway, not my lighting.
When more children walked home from school, DST gave them more time to do so safely and enjoy part of the day after school outside. Now, children don't really play outside anymore, so that reason doesn't matter (again, exaggerating, but really...).
Another argument for the time change is for farmers; they can get through their work more easily when they have more hours at the end of the day. Now, I'm no farmer, and no one in my family (that I know of) is a farmer, so I'm not sure, but I assume that farmers work when the sun is out. They rise with it and quit working with it. I doubt the exact time of day matters at all with that kind of work.
My dad says that DST was the government's first attempt to convince the people to accept something completely unreasonable. If we would go along with them altering time, we'd go along with anything. I don't if I'd go that far, but I don't completely disagree. DST, in my opinion, is simply ridiculous and accomplishes little except to ruin my sleep pattern for a few weeks and have me driving to work in the dark when it ends.
Arizona, Hawai'i, and Indiana have the right idea: no DST! For the most part, their time is consistent year-round! I think they have a few parts that do go along with everyone else for DST, but the states as a whole do not. How lovely! I dream of a day when we get rid of the time changes and just leave time alone. However, since much of the world has adopted this practice (for no apparent reason), I doubt we'll ever return to a more stable situation.
Frankly, I don't care if we stay on standard time or switch permanently to DST, but I would love the permanence! My disdain for this practice will never falter, and I'm sure I will continue such rants as this one in the future. Down with DST! (I had to go for the dramatic ending.)
Today, we had returned to us the hour that was stolen early this year. The same hour we will lose again next March. Why?!?! Why do we continue to go through this? As far as I can tell, these time changes bring us very little. Sure, we have a little more daylight at the end of the day in the summer, but the days are longer anyway, so do we really need to alter time to make them even longer? Who needs the sun up after 8:00 or 9:00, anyway? Then, in winter, when we return to normal time, the days, already becoming shorter, grow immediately more depressing. I leave for work in the dark and return home in the dark (I'm exaggerating, but it certainly feels that way). Having time move backward one hour doesn't help.
Daylight Saving Time was, I suppose, a useful idea once. It helped during WWII, when people were afraid of air raids and had to keep their lights off. More useable hours in the evening allowed everyone to do what they needed and avoid adding to the danger of attack. Along these lines, DST in now supposed to help us save energy by having more waking hours of daylight, but I seriously doubt it works. I still use lights when the sun is up, and most of my power consumption is through electronics anyway, not my lighting.
When more children walked home from school, DST gave them more time to do so safely and enjoy part of the day after school outside. Now, children don't really play outside anymore, so that reason doesn't matter (again, exaggerating, but really...).
Another argument for the time change is for farmers; they can get through their work more easily when they have more hours at the end of the day. Now, I'm no farmer, and no one in my family (that I know of) is a farmer, so I'm not sure, but I assume that farmers work when the sun is out. They rise with it and quit working with it. I doubt the exact time of day matters at all with that kind of work.
My dad says that DST was the government's first attempt to convince the people to accept something completely unreasonable. If we would go along with them altering time, we'd go along with anything. I don't if I'd go that far, but I don't completely disagree. DST, in my opinion, is simply ridiculous and accomplishes little except to ruin my sleep pattern for a few weeks and have me driving to work in the dark when it ends.
Arizona, Hawai'i, and Indiana have the right idea: no DST! For the most part, their time is consistent year-round! I think they have a few parts that do go along with everyone else for DST, but the states as a whole do not. How lovely! I dream of a day when we get rid of the time changes and just leave time alone. However, since much of the world has adopted this practice (for no apparent reason), I doubt we'll ever return to a more stable situation.
Frankly, I don't care if we stay on standard time or switch permanently to DST, but I would love the permanence! My disdain for this practice will never falter, and I'm sure I will continue such rants as this one in the future. Down with DST! (I had to go for the dramatic ending.)
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Fire!
In our apartment, Squeaks and I have a lovely little fireplace. If I were the only one living here, that fireplace never would have been used. It's all too much work for me. Getting the fire started, keeping it going, stopping it safely, and cleaning up afterward: it's not something I would do myself. Squeaks, though, she's dedicated. She loves a good fire; she likes starting it and tending it and will stay there all night keeping it going. I'm just glad she limits her "burninating" to the occasional fire in the fireplace.
We usually plan to make s'mores when we have a fire. Unfortunately, our only source for firewood is the local store (Meijer, Giant Eagle, Kroger, etc.), and that wood is always wrapped in plastic and usually permanently wet. That makes starting the fire and keeping it going extremely difficult. Thus, we usually have to use some kind of fire starter for the job, which means we can't cook food over that fire; the chemicals might kill us. This has happened to us no fewer than three times between this year and last, once was last weekend when one of my friends from out of town was visiting. That has led to much disappointment for everyone involved. I hadn't realized the extent of my own disappointment in the lack of s'more until this weekend.
On Friday, Squeaks and I had Squiggly and KP over for a visit: dinner, hanging out, the usual. We decided we would also like to have a fire since it's been so chilly lately (and Squeaks has been wanting the fires for a while). We were determined to succeed in s'moring this time! Squeaks was focused and dedicated, and she made that fire work!
Finally!! S'mores! I had two, and they were delicious! It was at that moment, in the middle of my first campfire treat, that I realized how much I had wanted those blasted things. The combination of sweetness from the mallow, the richness of the chocolate, and the crunch of the graham...the creator of s'mores was a genius! God bless him! (We did look it up, and "some more" treats are attributed to a man, though I don't remember who it was.)
We will most definitely be doing this again, and if we take too long to have a nice fire, we may just have to figure out how to use the microwave or something to warm the marshmallow. I won't want to go so long without a s'more again, but I'll have to be careful not to have them too often either. They could be dangerous, as could Squeaks' pyro tendencies, but we'll take that one fire at a time.
We usually plan to make s'mores when we have a fire. Unfortunately, our only source for firewood is the local store (Meijer, Giant Eagle, Kroger, etc.), and that wood is always wrapped in plastic and usually permanently wet. That makes starting the fire and keeping it going extremely difficult. Thus, we usually have to use some kind of fire starter for the job, which means we can't cook food over that fire; the chemicals might kill us. This has happened to us no fewer than three times between this year and last, once was last weekend when one of my friends from out of town was visiting. That has led to much disappointment for everyone involved. I hadn't realized the extent of my own disappointment in the lack of s'more until this weekend.
On Friday, Squeaks and I had Squiggly and KP over for a visit: dinner, hanging out, the usual. We decided we would also like to have a fire since it's been so chilly lately (and Squeaks has been wanting the fires for a while). We were determined to succeed in s'moring this time! Squeaks was focused and dedicated, and she made that fire work!
Finally!! S'mores! I had two, and they were delicious! It was at that moment, in the middle of my first campfire treat, that I realized how much I had wanted those blasted things. The combination of sweetness from the mallow, the richness of the chocolate, and the crunch of the graham...the creator of s'mores was a genius! God bless him! (We did look it up, and "some more" treats are attributed to a man, though I don't remember who it was.)
We will most definitely be doing this again, and if we take too long to have a nice fire, we may just have to figure out how to use the microwave or something to warm the marshmallow. I won't want to go so long without a s'more again, but I'll have to be careful not to have them too often either. They could be dangerous, as could Squeaks' pyro tendencies, but we'll take that one fire at a time.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Do Better!
Any of my regular readers know by now about my work woes. Don't worry about me too much. I'm a little worried, but I'll get by, and I'm sure I'll find something decent if start putting in the legwork to do so.
It's funny that I'm thinking so seriously about this now because I feel I'm doing my best as a teacher this year. While I'm putting less evening and weekend time into grading, I'm using more of my between-class-time (when not grading) planning for my classes. I'm creating PowerPoint slideshows to guide my delivery of non-discussion information and preparing better to teach, rather than relying on discussions of readings, as I've most often done in the past. I'm trying more to instruct my students on various aspects of writing itself in different ways, as I've not done quite the same way in the past. Doesn't it always happen that way? Just as I start to figure out a better way of doing something when it's about time for me to move on.
Anyway, I've been thinking about this quite a bit lately. In fact, it's often one of the first issues I bring up when talking to someone I haven't seen in a while (if I've done this to you, I'm sorry...I'm trying to cut it out). I'm trying not to obsess or worry, but I can't seem to help it.
Yesterday, while with my parents and one of my sisters, I visited my grandfather. He has a little trouble remembering certain things, but he generally does a great job of remembering at least some of what is going on with his many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Just before the visit ended, he asked me if I was going to be teaching. I reminded him that I had already been teaching for a while and mentioned that I might have to stop teaching soon to find a steadier job. I thought he would be disappointed or encourage me to stick with it. My grandparents have all been proud of my academic achievements in the past and admired the fact that I was teaching. Instead, he offered the most supportive advice anyone could have. He said, simply, "Hey. If you can do better, you do it."
I agreed and joked that it would become my new motto. Upon further thought, I don't think I am joking. That should be my thought process moving forward in the job hunt. The whole point in trying to find a new job is to do better. Otherwise, I might as well stay where I am. I will begin this job search soon (as I've just discovered I don't have any classes at one of the places I teach), and I will remember to "do better."
I love my grandfather, and I am reminded regularly how wise, loving, and amazing he truly is.
It's funny that I'm thinking so seriously about this now because I feel I'm doing my best as a teacher this year. While I'm putting less evening and weekend time into grading, I'm using more of my between-class-time (when not grading) planning for my classes. I'm creating PowerPoint slideshows to guide my delivery of non-discussion information and preparing better to teach, rather than relying on discussions of readings, as I've most often done in the past. I'm trying more to instruct my students on various aspects of writing itself in different ways, as I've not done quite the same way in the past. Doesn't it always happen that way? Just as I start to figure out a better way of doing something when it's about time for me to move on.
Anyway, I've been thinking about this quite a bit lately. In fact, it's often one of the first issues I bring up when talking to someone I haven't seen in a while (if I've done this to you, I'm sorry...I'm trying to cut it out). I'm trying not to obsess or worry, but I can't seem to help it.
Yesterday, while with my parents and one of my sisters, I visited my grandfather. He has a little trouble remembering certain things, but he generally does a great job of remembering at least some of what is going on with his many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Just before the visit ended, he asked me if I was going to be teaching. I reminded him that I had already been teaching for a while and mentioned that I might have to stop teaching soon to find a steadier job. I thought he would be disappointed or encourage me to stick with it. My grandparents have all been proud of my academic achievements in the past and admired the fact that I was teaching. Instead, he offered the most supportive advice anyone could have. He said, simply, "Hey. If you can do better, you do it."
I agreed and joked that it would become my new motto. Upon further thought, I don't think I am joking. That should be my thought process moving forward in the job hunt. The whole point in trying to find a new job is to do better. Otherwise, I might as well stay where I am. I will begin this job search soon (as I've just discovered I don't have any classes at one of the places I teach), and I will remember to "do better."
I love my grandfather, and I am reminded regularly how wise, loving, and amazing he truly is.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
An A with Attitude
I've realized recently that a have a new attitude about work that may not be the most positive. I don't think it affects my teaching, but it certainly affects how I go about using my "down time."
When I had more classes to teach (you know, before one of my employers decided to cut back even further how much adjuncts could work), I would spend entire weekends grading essays. I would take on one class per day, Friday through Sunday, and work in the fourth class throughout the week, if possible. If now, that meant I went by the numbers instead of the classes. That would usually mean around 80 essays to grade over a weekend. I don't like to make my students wait for results longer than absolutely necessary, so I've always imposed a one week deadline on myself for essay turn-around. These were not fun weekends, and I always felt bad for my roomie (sorry, Squeaks!), but I did the work and made it through relatively quickly. However, I was also sacrificing my weekends.
If the other place I teach also had essays coming in, that would mangle my system a bit, but it just meant less free time and a bit more irritation (again, sorry, Squeaks!). All this is certainly not the "glory" of teaching, but it's part of the job I knew going in would be somewhat painful. As an English teacher, it's what I have to do. I was reluctant but willing (mostly).
Now, however, that has all seemed to change. This semester, I haven't spent any weekend time grading (so far), and I've collected essays from all of my classes. I have four classes total (two at each place), while I used to have five or six between the two, so I do have fewer essays to grade. This led me to the theory that I could, in fact, grade all the essays during the week between other required work activities (i.e. teaching classes, tutoring, planning for classes, etc.). I didn't even think I'd have to grade any on week nights, and I really haven't so far. About three weeks ago, my first essays from the newly limited school came in, and I graded about 32 essays only during work hours. I graded around 37 papers from the other school this week, all between Monday and Thursday, and the only time I graded any at home was in the morning, after breakfast, when I'm more patient and focused anyway.
This began as a supposition, an experiment, just to see if I could do it. Frankly, I'd rather spend weekend and evening time on anything except work, especially grading, so I wanted to try it. Now, however, I've determined that this is how I should try to keep getting this time-consuming work done. I enjoy myself more, and I don't have the pressure of always doing work to add to my irritation with my work situation.
I guess I've decided that, if they're not going to give me enough hours and bring in enough money to do much more than make sure ends meet, then why should I give up my free time to do extra work? I still do the work, and I want my students to learn what they need from me and succeed in the future. I want to do the best I can as a teacher in the classroom, which means using some off-time to prepare. I just don't think I should have to work so hard for so many unpaid hours of the day for an organization that doesn't appreciate the majority of its work force.
In case you're wondering, yes, I am beginning the process of finding another job. If you have any leads in this geographical area, let me know.
When I had more classes to teach (you know, before one of my employers decided to cut back even further how much adjuncts could work), I would spend entire weekends grading essays. I would take on one class per day, Friday through Sunday, and work in the fourth class throughout the week, if possible. If now, that meant I went by the numbers instead of the classes. That would usually mean around 80 essays to grade over a weekend. I don't like to make my students wait for results longer than absolutely necessary, so I've always imposed a one week deadline on myself for essay turn-around. These were not fun weekends, and I always felt bad for my roomie (sorry, Squeaks!), but I did the work and made it through relatively quickly. However, I was also sacrificing my weekends.
If the other place I teach also had essays coming in, that would mangle my system a bit, but it just meant less free time and a bit more irritation (again, sorry, Squeaks!). All this is certainly not the "glory" of teaching, but it's part of the job I knew going in would be somewhat painful. As an English teacher, it's what I have to do. I was reluctant but willing (mostly).
Now, however, that has all seemed to change. This semester, I haven't spent any weekend time grading (so far), and I've collected essays from all of my classes. I have four classes total (two at each place), while I used to have five or six between the two, so I do have fewer essays to grade. This led me to the theory that I could, in fact, grade all the essays during the week between other required work activities (i.e. teaching classes, tutoring, planning for classes, etc.). I didn't even think I'd have to grade any on week nights, and I really haven't so far. About three weeks ago, my first essays from the newly limited school came in, and I graded about 32 essays only during work hours. I graded around 37 papers from the other school this week, all between Monday and Thursday, and the only time I graded any at home was in the morning, after breakfast, when I'm more patient and focused anyway.
This began as a supposition, an experiment, just to see if I could do it. Frankly, I'd rather spend weekend and evening time on anything except work, especially grading, so I wanted to try it. Now, however, I've determined that this is how I should try to keep getting this time-consuming work done. I enjoy myself more, and I don't have the pressure of always doing work to add to my irritation with my work situation.
I guess I've decided that, if they're not going to give me enough hours and bring in enough money to do much more than make sure ends meet, then why should I give up my free time to do extra work? I still do the work, and I want my students to learn what they need from me and succeed in the future. I want to do the best I can as a teacher in the classroom, which means using some off-time to prepare. I just don't think I should have to work so hard for so many unpaid hours of the day for an organization that doesn't appreciate the majority of its work force.
In case you're wondering, yes, I am beginning the process of finding another job. If you have any leads in this geographical area, let me know.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
First Day Jitters
When I was a student (at any level), I always experienced nerves the night before classes started. As a youngster (grade school), that was all excitement. Later, my feelings developed more into anxiety of a sort and concern about finding the right room, not looking like an idiot, making sure the teacher liked me (I was a suck-up who didn't know she was one), and finding out how crazy the semester was going to be.
After I finished grad school, I assumed those nervous, sleepless nights were at an end. Reality, however, seems to be the opposite. Now that I'm teaching, I have first-day-of-school anxiety on top of work anxiety. It's all sorts of fun.
Last week was my first week at both schools: one started Monday, the other Wednesday, so I had two nights of rough sleep. I had my syllabi ready, and the first days are frighteningly simple--I go through the pertinent points of the syllabus, start getting to know the students, show them how tough, yet occasionally funny, I am, and start the ball rolling. After the syllabus is together, week one is a breeze, teaching-wise. In spite of all that (and my previous teaching experience; I've been doing this for at least five years now), I still do not sleep well the night before the first day.
What's funny is that I never think I'm nervous. I don't particularly feel anxious or overwhelmed. I know what's coming, and I'm prepared. Yet, my tossing and turning and checking the clock all night, as well as the strange dreams, force me to admit to those insidious jitters. Last Sunday night, before OD started, I had many dreams, three of which stick in my mind somewhat to this point, so I'll share. I think you'll notice a theme. (This is the order in which I remember having these dreams.)
So, first day jitters and general anxiety? Yep, I've still got them! I don't think my jobs stress me out too much, but I suppose I'll always be a little nervous for the first day of school.
[*In the computer game I play, Star Wars: The Old Republic (i.e. SWTOR), there are these bonus objects I can find called datacrons (their purpose isn't important at the moment). There are tricks to finding all of them: some involve jumping to tricky places, others involve puzzles, some are behind high point enemies I have to kill. One is across a lava-filled space, and I have to find a Crusade-like bridge to get to it.
**The leap of faith: in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, part of the final puzzle to the Holy Grail involves Indy finding a way across an enormous chasm. He must take a "leap of faith," believing that God (or the holy men who hid the Grail) would have a way for him to cross, so he takes a step into the abyss. He discovers an "invisible" bridge just wide enough for him to walk across. (Frankly, if you don't already know all that, I'm not sure why we're friends, but I'm explaining just in case.) ]
After I finished grad school, I assumed those nervous, sleepless nights were at an end. Reality, however, seems to be the opposite. Now that I'm teaching, I have first-day-of-school anxiety on top of work anxiety. It's all sorts of fun.
Last week was my first week at both schools: one started Monday, the other Wednesday, so I had two nights of rough sleep. I had my syllabi ready, and the first days are frighteningly simple--I go through the pertinent points of the syllabus, start getting to know the students, show them how tough, yet occasionally funny, I am, and start the ball rolling. After the syllabus is together, week one is a breeze, teaching-wise. In spite of all that (and my previous teaching experience; I've been doing this for at least five years now), I still do not sleep well the night before the first day.
What's funny is that I never think I'm nervous. I don't particularly feel anxious or overwhelmed. I know what's coming, and I'm prepared. Yet, my tossing and turning and checking the clock all night, as well as the strange dreams, force me to admit to those insidious jitters. Last Sunday night, before OD started, I had many dreams, three of which stick in my mind somewhat to this point, so I'll share. I think you'll notice a theme. (This is the order in which I remember having these dreams.)
- Finding the Subway - In this scene, I think was visiting my sister, BB, in NYC, but it was as though the city street was also a large mall, focused primarily in what looked like a food court. I had to get to wherever BB was by a certain time, 11:00pm, I think, but I was having trouble finding the subway station. On top of that, I was convinced that the trains would stop running completely within a few minutes. I ran down what felt like the length of the mall (several city blocks) in the direction I had thought the stop I wanted was in. No luck. So, I ran in the other direction; that's when I found the subway stop just around a corner from where I had started, and I was too late for the train. I knew BB was going to be upset with me, and I was left lost in NYC, the mall.
- Lady on a Plane - Next, I was on an airplane. It was a rather small plane: one side of the plane had three seats across, the other had two. I was seated in the window seat on the two-seat side, when the woman who had the seat next to me appeared. She spoke loudly, in a rather strident tone, and asked/demanded that I switch her seats because she didn't want to sit on the aisle. Next I new, I was in the aisle seat, and the woman (who was also a little heavy) was sitting in the window seat but leaning over in my direction. She was practically in my chair (not that she was too large for her seat, but she was simply invading my space), and she wouldn't stop talking to me extremely loudly. Oh, the irritation. My dream morphed then: it was the same, but we were suddenly in a larger plane that had at least three seats on each side; I think ours had four. I was still in the same row as that same woman, and she was still in my personal space. I guess I couldn't escape her.
- Leap of Faith - [This dream had a few elements that you may not recognize, so I have a glossary of sorts at the bottom of this post.] I was trying to get to something like a datacron*. I don't think it was a datacron, exactly, but I'm not sure because I never obtained whatever I was trying to get. I was on one side of a canyon and had to reach a point partway across, a platform of sorts. I had to "leap of faith"** there, across a narrow, and nearly invisible, land bridge. Once I reached the platform, I realized I didn't have an item I had to have to retrieve my goal item (reward?). So, I had to go back across the perilous path. The needed object was in another place I had to travel to, and the process would take a while. I knew I'd have to go and come back and cross that blasted bridge again, but there was no help for it...I HAD to have whatever was on that platform. Before I could find out what any of those mysterious items were, either to get the goal or the goal itself, my alarm finally went off.
So, first day jitters and general anxiety? Yep, I've still got them! I don't think my jobs stress me out too much, but I suppose I'll always be a little nervous for the first day of school.
[*In the computer game I play, Star Wars: The Old Republic (i.e. SWTOR), there are these bonus objects I can find called datacrons (their purpose isn't important at the moment). There are tricks to finding all of them: some involve jumping to tricky places, others involve puzzles, some are behind high point enemies I have to kill. One is across a lava-filled space, and I have to find a Crusade-like bridge to get to it.
**The leap of faith: in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, part of the final puzzle to the Holy Grail involves Indy finding a way across an enormous chasm. He must take a "leap of faith," believing that God (or the holy men who hid the Grail) would have a way for him to cross, so he takes a step into the abyss. He discovers an "invisible" bridge just wide enough for him to walk across. (Frankly, if you don't already know all that, I'm not sure why we're friends, but I'm explaining just in case.) ]
Monday, August 12, 2013
Reunited...
And it feels so good! (I just had to do it.)
This past Saturday, I attended an extended family reunion. This was a reunion of my dad's immediate family in Ohio--my aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins' children--that we have every summer, but expanded to include my dad's mother's side of the family as well--Dad's cousins and their families. We had beautiful weather, a perfect location at a park with features to keep the younger members busy, and a bunch of people, some of whom came from all over the country. I know we had people from Kentucky, Minnesota, and Texas, and those were only the people I talked to directly. I had a good time and met a number of family members I had only heard of before, and many I hadn't.
Here are all the attendees! That's quite a group!
Reunions for the younger generations are interesting events in that they are often not so interesting. When I was a child, we had reunions every year for the extended family on my dad's father's side. For me, those events were somewhat torturous. I didn't know anyone except my own aunts, uncles, and cousins, and I wasn't especially close to any of them. I would play with the other kids, but the venues chosen for this event were not exactly conducive to fun times for youngsters. I didn't want to talk to the "old" people I didn't know but who seemed to know me. As little as some of you may believe this now (apparently I've worked on this over time), I was not especially social as a child. I didn't know how to talk to new acquaintances, especially adults, and I'd rather spend time by myself or with my parents and sisters than with family members I rarely even saw. I dreaded these events.
Now, I'm much better. I didn't know many of the people at this reunion, but I managed to meet and have conversations with several. At such events, I tend to introduce myself by family relation rather than by name: "I'm so-and-so's daughter." Then I'll give my name; I find the process is easier that way. I've figured out, over time, how to make some small talk, which is really useful at reunions. Actually, talking small is even easier at these kinds of events because we could always bring the conversation back to family members, gossip, etc. I also noticed, at first, I clung (clinged? clang?) to those people I know, even if I rarely speak to them: aunts I don't spend time with, cousins I don't visit with regularly, uncles who can be ridiculous, and not always in good ways. It took me a little time to become more generally social. I also developed a habit of speaking to everyone as though I already knew them and they knew who I was, making comments and jokes to break the ice. I guess it worked.
I'm glad I attended this reunion, and I'm grateful my dad, grandpa, aunts, and uncles were able to see the people they knew when they were younger but haven't had the chance to see for many years. I also was able to appreciate the fact that I have learned how to deal with such social situations much better than I have in the past. I'm not quite the introverted, anti-social hermit I think of my younger self as! (And, yes, I do think I was sometimes exactly that bad.)
This past Saturday, I attended an extended family reunion. This was a reunion of my dad's immediate family in Ohio--my aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins' children--that we have every summer, but expanded to include my dad's mother's side of the family as well--Dad's cousins and their families. We had beautiful weather, a perfect location at a park with features to keep the younger members busy, and a bunch of people, some of whom came from all over the country. I know we had people from Kentucky, Minnesota, and Texas, and those were only the people I talked to directly. I had a good time and met a number of family members I had only heard of before, and many I hadn't.
Reunions for the younger generations are interesting events in that they are often not so interesting. When I was a child, we had reunions every year for the extended family on my dad's father's side. For me, those events were somewhat torturous. I didn't know anyone except my own aunts, uncles, and cousins, and I wasn't especially close to any of them. I would play with the other kids, but the venues chosen for this event were not exactly conducive to fun times for youngsters. I didn't want to talk to the "old" people I didn't know but who seemed to know me. As little as some of you may believe this now (apparently I've worked on this over time), I was not especially social as a child. I didn't know how to talk to new acquaintances, especially adults, and I'd rather spend time by myself or with my parents and sisters than with family members I rarely even saw. I dreaded these events.
Now, I'm much better. I didn't know many of the people at this reunion, but I managed to meet and have conversations with several. At such events, I tend to introduce myself by family relation rather than by name: "I'm so-and-so's daughter." Then I'll give my name; I find the process is easier that way. I've figured out, over time, how to make some small talk, which is really useful at reunions. Actually, talking small is even easier at these kinds of events because we could always bring the conversation back to family members, gossip, etc. I also noticed, at first, I clung (clinged? clang?) to those people I know, even if I rarely speak to them: aunts I don't spend time with, cousins I don't visit with regularly, uncles who can be ridiculous, and not always in good ways. It took me a little time to become more generally social. I also developed a habit of speaking to everyone as though I already knew them and they knew who I was, making comments and jokes to break the ice. I guess it worked.
I'm glad I attended this reunion, and I'm grateful my dad, grandpa, aunts, and uncles were able to see the people they knew when they were younger but haven't had the chance to see for many years. I also was able to appreciate the fact that I have learned how to deal with such social situations much better than I have in the past. I'm not quite the introverted, anti-social hermit I think of my younger self as! (And, yes, I do think I was sometimes exactly that bad.)
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Work Flux
I'm now in the midst of my official summer break. The writing center closed with the end of summer term, so even my minimal work hours ended a week ago. This summer has led to many considerations when it comes to my work.
As a part-time college instructor (or adjunct, as we're titled), I don't have guaranteed or steady hours or income at either of the two colleges I work for. I take what they give me and hope it's enough. The uncertainty is scarcely enjoyable, though it does allow me down time to do what I want, when I'm not grading stacks of essays, that is. To supplement, I also work in the writing center.
This year, one of my employers has made the adjunct life even more difficult by changing the maximum number of hours any adjunct can work from 29 per week to 22, as well as the meaning of time. Now, one teaching hour counts as two "clock hours," but they're not adjusting our pay to reflect that; we're paid the same amount per hour we were before. Essentially, they have cut what we can do in half. I guess I'm more quarter-time, than part-time now, which is rather inconvenient, financially.
Anyway, this change has also caused problems for the writing center. They only employ teachers at the college, and now we can't tutor as much if we also want to teach (all the hours are added together). To alleviate that problem, they've created a new "staff" position for people to just work in the writing center. I've always said that, if I could work at the writing center without teaching, I would; I just like the one-on-one work of the writing center more than teaching a large group. Thus, I strongly considered taking one of these positions. I even applied. Unfortunately, they won't be making any decisions about those jobs until just before fall semester begins, and I cannot deal with that level of uncertainty for that long. Even my supervisor at the center, who was quite excited to hear that I would be applying for the staff job, recommended I go for the more "sure thing."
As a result of all this, I'm back where I began a few months ago: taking what I can and hoping for the best.
I've been given two classes at this place for the fall, which equals six teaching hours (12 clock hours), so I can still tutor for ten hours, if they haven't filled the writing center with staffers. I really will need that tutoring work on top of the two classes (and the two at the other place I teach) in order to make ends meet comfortably.
Methinks I'll be looking for different steadier work in the next few years. I just can't see myself dealing with all of this for the rest of my life. Now, I just have to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.
As a part-time college instructor (or adjunct, as we're titled), I don't have guaranteed or steady hours or income at either of the two colleges I work for. I take what they give me and hope it's enough. The uncertainty is scarcely enjoyable, though it does allow me down time to do what I want, when I'm not grading stacks of essays, that is. To supplement, I also work in the writing center.
This year, one of my employers has made the adjunct life even more difficult by changing the maximum number of hours any adjunct can work from 29 per week to 22, as well as the meaning of time. Now, one teaching hour counts as two "clock hours," but they're not adjusting our pay to reflect that; we're paid the same amount per hour we were before. Essentially, they have cut what we can do in half. I guess I'm more quarter-time, than part-time now, which is rather inconvenient, financially.
Anyway, this change has also caused problems for the writing center. They only employ teachers at the college, and now we can't tutor as much if we also want to teach (all the hours are added together). To alleviate that problem, they've created a new "staff" position for people to just work in the writing center. I've always said that, if I could work at the writing center without teaching, I would; I just like the one-on-one work of the writing center more than teaching a large group. Thus, I strongly considered taking one of these positions. I even applied. Unfortunately, they won't be making any decisions about those jobs until just before fall semester begins, and I cannot deal with that level of uncertainty for that long. Even my supervisor at the center, who was quite excited to hear that I would be applying for the staff job, recommended I go for the more "sure thing."
As a result of all this, I'm back where I began a few months ago: taking what I can and hoping for the best.
I've been given two classes at this place for the fall, which equals six teaching hours (12 clock hours), so I can still tutor for ten hours, if they haven't filled the writing center with staffers. I really will need that tutoring work on top of the two classes (and the two at the other place I teach) in order to make ends meet comfortably.
Methinks I'll be looking for different steadier work in the next few years. I just can't see myself dealing with all of this for the rest of my life. Now, I just have to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
A Muddy Good Time!
As my regular readers probably know, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer early last year. She went through surgeries and radiation therapy and is free and clear of cancer at this point. However, her experience scared us all and woke us up to the realities of cancer. Thus, my family developed a desire to become at least somewhat more involved in efforts to raise money for breast cancer research. We didn't want to just send money somewhere, though; we wanted to DO something. A few months ago, my brother-in-law discovered an event that takes place throughout the year and around the country called the Dirty Girl Mud Run. He told us all about it, and my sisters, niece, mom, and I jumped on board.
The Mud Run took place this weekend (as those of you with me on FB already know), and we had a BLAST!!! Everyone who registers to run the course pays a fee (much of which goes to breast cancer research), except, of course, survivors or breast cancer. The Run is for women only, 5K (about 3 miles) long, and involves twelve obstacles participants must overcome, most of which involve a significant amount of mud. The obstacles themselves weren't too bad for the most part: some were giant inflatables to climb up, over, and down; some were simply large tanks of mud to walk or crawl through. The toughest two involved crossed ropes (much like cargo nets), one horizontal and one vertical. The horizontal one we had to find a way to climb across for about 20 feet, which was difficult because the middle sagged, so almost any technique used to traverse it only worked well for half of it, either climbing up or down. The vertical net(s) we had to climb up and down like rope ladders. Even those two obstacles were only rough because ropes can be difficult on the hand, feet, and back.
In the Run, participants can choose to forego an obstacle for any reason without any kind of penalty (it is a fun, non-competitive fundraising event, after all). My team made it through every obstacles and went the entire length of the course! My mother, a cancer survivor, did everything except the two rope obstacles and surpassed even her own expectations (she climbed over a wall that was five or six feet high!). In fact, we all exceeded our own expectations. I do not exercise regularly, but I guess I'm not in too bad of shape. I didn't feel to tired or winded at any point in the Run, and I expected to fail spectacularly at some early point, but I didn't! I did almost go completely under the mud a few times, but that just added to the experience. We all made it through in decent time, had a ton of fun together, and helped the fight against cancer in some small way.
I'm still finding mud, but I would definitely participate in this event again, and we're seriously considering it for next year. My dad and brother-in-law were disappointed they couldn't participate, but I think they had fun watching, and they took a bunch of pics and videos that may appear here and will definitely make it to FB. My brother-in-law (an extremely active man) was so impressed with use that he's trying to encourage my sisters and I to participate in other muddy events like Warrior Dash and Tough Mudder... We'll see...
Now, go play in the mud!
The Mud Run took place this weekend (as those of you with me on FB already know), and we had a BLAST!!! Everyone who registers to run the course pays a fee (much of which goes to breast cancer research), except, of course, survivors or breast cancer. The Run is for women only, 5K (about 3 miles) long, and involves twelve obstacles participants must overcome, most of which involve a significant amount of mud. The obstacles themselves weren't too bad for the most part: some were giant inflatables to climb up, over, and down; some were simply large tanks of mud to walk or crawl through. The toughest two involved crossed ropes (much like cargo nets), one horizontal and one vertical. The horizontal one we had to find a way to climb across for about 20 feet, which was difficult because the middle sagged, so almost any technique used to traverse it only worked well for half of it, either climbing up or down. The vertical net(s) we had to climb up and down like rope ladders. Even those two obstacles were only rough because ropes can be difficult on the hand, feet, and back.
In the Run, participants can choose to forego an obstacle for any reason without any kind of penalty (it is a fun, non-competitive fundraising event, after all). My team made it through every obstacles and went the entire length of the course! My mother, a cancer survivor, did everything except the two rope obstacles and surpassed even her own expectations (she climbed over a wall that was five or six feet high!). In fact, we all exceeded our own expectations. I do not exercise regularly, but I guess I'm not in too bad of shape. I didn't feel to tired or winded at any point in the Run, and I expected to fail spectacularly at some early point, but I didn't! I did almost go completely under the mud a few times, but that just added to the experience. We all made it through in decent time, had a ton of fun together, and helped the fight against cancer in some small way.
I'm still finding mud, but I would definitely participate in this event again, and we're seriously considering it for next year. My dad and brother-in-law were disappointed they couldn't participate, but I think they had fun watching, and they took a bunch of pics and videos that may appear here and will definitely make it to FB. My brother-in-law (an extremely active man) was so impressed with use that he's trying to encourage my sisters and I to participate in other muddy events like Warrior Dash and Tough Mudder... We'll see...
Now, go play in the mud!
Friday, July 12, 2013
Productive Soreness, or Sorely Productive
Friday (for now) is one of my days off. As such, I most often spend it reading, watching Netflix (Star Trek: TNG at the moment), and playing my computer game (Star Wars: The Old Republic, if you're joining this blog in progress). I rarely do much else on my days off, especially during the week, unless I make plans with friends or family. Today, however, I was strangely productive, which I am now paying for in one way or another.
I am somewhat lazy by nature. It's not that I don't like participating in activities or completing tasks around the house, but if I can sit and do something I enjoy instead, that's what I will do. I'm almost always doing something, and I'm usually thinking about several things at once, but I don't "get up and go" too often. Squeaks (i.e. my roomie) doesn't understand how I can be so content just staying at home, doing "the same thing" pretty much all the time. I just am. I also digress.
Anyway, today was one of my random days of productivity. I realized a few weeks ago that I needed more bookshelves. What I have in my room (2 sets) have to hold all my books and all my DVDs. As of last week, I had exactly enough space for my books and movies...if I took out some of the DVD sets of shows. I cannot live in such conditions! Therefore, with the help of my search-happy mother, I set out to find some options to expand my storage potential. As always, we came down to Sauder. All of my shelves, as well as my dresser/wardrobe, are Sauder. It's relatively easy to assemble, it all looks like it goes together, and it fits the space I have in my room (advertisement for Sauder over).
I decided that yesterday was the perfect time to check out the Sauder store on the east side of town after work. The "media storage units" I was considering were there, so I thought I'd save on shipping and buy them in-store instead. I chose three sets of small shelves: they fit the spot I need them to fit in my room, and they can be place in different parts of a room if I ever need to rearrange the furniture or move to a new apartment.
I thought I'd spend the weekend slowly assembling these pieces: one each today, tomorrow, and Sunday. Well, once I knew what I was doing and got a rhythm going, I decided to just keep at it, so I spent about two hours this afternoon assembling these shelves. They look great, I had no trouble putting them together, and they look like they'll be exactly what I need. However, the process is killer to my constitution.
What with spending all that time on the floor, bending down to pull it all together and crawling from one side to the other, my back and legs are pretty sore. My thumbs and palms are tender from getting the plastic protective sleeves on the shelf props and using tools I'm unaccustomed to.
On top of all that, when I was changing the sheets on my bed (which I probably don't do as often as I should) I managed to stab my thumb with the thumbnail on the other hand. That's a little worse than a paper-cut. Then, when I was finished with the shelves, I decided to vacuum so Squeaks and I would avoid any splintery bits that may have escaped the production line, I had to clean some string and hair and such from the roller; I used my fingers because they were most handy (pun intended), adding to the damage done to them today. I did manage to finish vacuuming, regardless.
Is this level of productivity worth the injuries I cause myself? I guess so. Now, the shelves are built and in my room, and my storage issues have been resolved once again (for a while, anyway). I bruise myself on a daily basis, and rarely remember how I received those contusions, so I suppose some soreness and cuts in a good cause are a small sacrifice.
Ask me again in the morning...
I am somewhat lazy by nature. It's not that I don't like participating in activities or completing tasks around the house, but if I can sit and do something I enjoy instead, that's what I will do. I'm almost always doing something, and I'm usually thinking about several things at once, but I don't "get up and go" too often. Squeaks (i.e. my roomie) doesn't understand how I can be so content just staying at home, doing "the same thing" pretty much all the time. I just am. I also digress.
Anyway, today was one of my random days of productivity. I realized a few weeks ago that I needed more bookshelves. What I have in my room (2 sets) have to hold all my books and all my DVDs. As of last week, I had exactly enough space for my books and movies...if I took out some of the DVD sets of shows. I cannot live in such conditions! Therefore, with the help of my search-happy mother, I set out to find some options to expand my storage potential. As always, we came down to Sauder. All of my shelves, as well as my dresser/wardrobe, are Sauder. It's relatively easy to assemble, it all looks like it goes together, and it fits the space I have in my room (advertisement for Sauder over).
I decided that yesterday was the perfect time to check out the Sauder store on the east side of town after work. The "media storage units" I was considering were there, so I thought I'd save on shipping and buy them in-store instead. I chose three sets of small shelves: they fit the spot I need them to fit in my room, and they can be place in different parts of a room if I ever need to rearrange the furniture or move to a new apartment.
I thought I'd spend the weekend slowly assembling these pieces: one each today, tomorrow, and Sunday. Well, once I knew what I was doing and got a rhythm going, I decided to just keep at it, so I spent about two hours this afternoon assembling these shelves. They look great, I had no trouble putting them together, and they look like they'll be exactly what I need. However, the process is killer to my constitution.
What with spending all that time on the floor, bending down to pull it all together and crawling from one side to the other, my back and legs are pretty sore. My thumbs and palms are tender from getting the plastic protective sleeves on the shelf props and using tools I'm unaccustomed to.
On top of all that, when I was changing the sheets on my bed (which I probably don't do as often as I should) I managed to stab my thumb with the thumbnail on the other hand. That's a little worse than a paper-cut. Then, when I was finished with the shelves, I decided to vacuum so Squeaks and I would avoid any splintery bits that may have escaped the production line, I had to clean some string and hair and such from the roller; I used my fingers because they were most handy (pun intended), adding to the damage done to them today. I did manage to finish vacuuming, regardless.
Is this level of productivity worth the injuries I cause myself? I guess so. Now, the shelves are built and in my room, and my storage issues have been resolved once again (for a while, anyway). I bruise myself on a daily basis, and rarely remember how I received those contusions, so I suppose some soreness and cuts in a good cause are a small sacrifice.
Ask me again in the morning...
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Friend-ing
My recent purge (or "summer cleaning") of my Facebook friends list made me think about the criteria for my "friends" on that site.
I believe that was the first time I had ever done a concentrated review of my friends list. I only removed about a dozen people, but it still caused me to reevaluate my Facebook situation. What makes me keep someone as a friend or remove him/her, perhaps never to hear from him/her again?
Keeping a Friend:
Removing a "Friend":
Also, while weeding my list, I came across a few people I was on the fence about: to keep or remove? I kept those for now, but I'm pretty sure I'll remove a few more of them in the near-distant future (as Squeaky would say); they're awfully close to those points on the second list up there.
This whole friend situation used to be much easier. If I didn't have regular contact with someone, we weren't friends. Now, Facebook has blurred that line of friendship, preventing gradual breaks from people I may not really need/want to have contact with. I don't know for sure if that is positive or negative, but it sure can be confusing!
I believe that was the first time I had ever done a concentrated review of my friends list. I only removed about a dozen people, but it still caused me to reevaluate my Facebook situation. What makes me keep someone as a friend or remove him/her, perhaps never to hear from him/her again?
Keeping a Friend:
- IRL friends ~ obviously, if I consider a person a friend off-line ("in real life," i.e. IRL), then I want to friends on Facebook
- Regular contact ~ we comment on one another's posts with some regularity, and the comments aren't too awkward for others to see
- Access ~ I don't mind that person seeing everything I post; if I unintentionally post a picture or comment to my Timeline, where everyone can see it, instead of just to a specific individual, does this person seeing it bother me?
- Interest ~ I actually want to see what he/she posts and care about the events of his/her life
- Other IRL relationship ~ if removing a friend could make IRL situations uncomfortable or difficult (i.e. at work), then I'll keep a person, though I may restrict access
Removing a "Friend":
- I have not seen, spoken to, or really thought about him/her on Facebook or IRL since adding as a "friend"
- I have banished his/her posts from my newsfeed due too excessively personal, political, and/or annoying posts
- I don't really want to know what is happening in his/her life (I want everyone to be healthy and content, but I don't necessarily need to know about it...in detail)
- I don't particularly want a person having access to the random posts and information I post; I try to keep everything I post online "safe" and assume anyone, even those not on my friends list, can see it, but I just don't want everyone to have direct access
- I didn't want to add a person as a friend in the first place, but felt bad/awkward not doing so, so I added him/her but have since regretted the decision for whatever reason
Also, while weeding my list, I came across a few people I was on the fence about: to keep or remove? I kept those for now, but I'm pretty sure I'll remove a few more of them in the near-distant future (as Squeaky would say); they're awfully close to those points on the second list up there.
This whole friend situation used to be much easier. If I didn't have regular contact with someone, we weren't friends. Now, Facebook has blurred that line of friendship, preventing gradual breaks from people I may not really need/want to have contact with. I don't know for sure if that is positive or negative, but it sure can be confusing!
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
What's in a Name?
So, I think it is about time that I attempt to explain the username. Here, it's ShishKa, and at Xanga it was shish_ka_bob, and that name comes from somewhere specific. Let us look back, if we can, to high school.
As many of you know, high school was not my favorite time. I liked it well enough. I had friends, was involved in various activities, received good grades, and was liked (I think) by most of my teachers. It was not a bad time for me, but it was not the "best time of my life," as it can be for many people.
My favorite element of high school (aside from English class, where I excelled and my teacher LOVED me) was band. I was in every band we had: concert, jazz, marching. Most of my friends were in band, and I spent all of my free time in the band room, as did almost everyone else in the band. (If you're wondering, I played the trumpet, and I was pretty awesome.)
With marching band, we traveled quite a bit, spending far too much time on school buses, but we were young and didn't mind that too much. However, all this time led us teens into finding strange ways of amusing ourselves. One such event occurred with one of my younger sisters one Saturday morning, as we were on our way to a marching band competition.
For some reason, BB decided everyone needed a nickname. I don't remember who she started with, but the theme became "bob" names based on real names. The driver, one of our usual ones, was "Bus Driver Bob" (I think). She went around to almost everyone on the bus, dubbing him/her with a "bob" name. Because of the first two letters of my first name, she decided I was "Ka Bob," which reminded us all of the food, shish kebab, so my name became "shish-ka-bob," and a legacy was born.
Then, in college, when my friends "encouraged" (*cough*pressured*cough*) me to open a Xanga account, I suppose to be more available and end some of my hermit-like tendencies, I could think of no other username that would do. Now, with this new blog, it seemed right to use a similar, but evolved, username. So, here we are.
Now you know and the torment of suspense has ended. You're welcome.
As many of you know, high school was not my favorite time. I liked it well enough. I had friends, was involved in various activities, received good grades, and was liked (I think) by most of my teachers. It was not a bad time for me, but it was not the "best time of my life," as it can be for many people.
My favorite element of high school (aside from English class, where I excelled and my teacher LOVED me) was band. I was in every band we had: concert, jazz, marching. Most of my friends were in band, and I spent all of my free time in the band room, as did almost everyone else in the band. (If you're wondering, I played the trumpet, and I was pretty awesome.)
With marching band, we traveled quite a bit, spending far too much time on school buses, but we were young and didn't mind that too much. However, all this time led us teens into finding strange ways of amusing ourselves. One such event occurred with one of my younger sisters one Saturday morning, as we were on our way to a marching band competition.
For some reason, BB decided everyone needed a nickname. I don't remember who she started with, but the theme became "bob" names based on real names. The driver, one of our usual ones, was "Bus Driver Bob" (I think). She went around to almost everyone on the bus, dubbing him/her with a "bob" name. Because of the first two letters of my first name, she decided I was "Ka Bob," which reminded us all of the food, shish kebab, so my name became "shish-ka-bob," and a legacy was born.
Then, in college, when my friends "encouraged" (*cough*pressured*cough*) me to open a Xanga account, I suppose to be more available and end some of my hermit-like tendencies, I could think of no other username that would do. Now, with this new blog, it seemed right to use a similar, but evolved, username. So, here we are.
Now you know and the torment of suspense has ended. You're welcome.
Monday, June 24, 2013
This, My New Blog
Greetings from a new blog!
Since college, I've blogged casually on Xanga. Apparently, due to financial issues, Xanga is no longer going to be the blog site it once was. Thus, I have decided to jump ship before their July 15 end-date and start a new blog here. I'm waiting to see if I like it.
It's funny, you know. I didn't even want to start that Xanga account. My closest college friends all had them, and I was an English major who didn't really write anything that wasn't required by classes, so my friends encouraged (*cough*demanded*cough*) that I start one. It turned out to be a pretty good way to keep up with a few of my college friends and a chance for me to get my random ramblings out of my head and out into the world (I can feel your gratitude). I never posted regularly, but I did end up with quite a bit there. I have a few regular followers, who I assume will follow me here, and perhaps some stalkers I didn't know about. In all of those cases, welcome! I suppose...
My goal with my blog is not to change the world or educate or gain a million followers. My intent for this blog is to record my thoughts. If you like to share in those thoughts, I'm glad to have you do so. I hope you gain a few laughs, some food for thought, and a bit of randomness for your days (when I actually post, that is).
Since college, I've blogged casually on Xanga. Apparently, due to financial issues, Xanga is no longer going to be the blog site it once was. Thus, I have decided to jump ship before their July 15 end-date and start a new blog here. I'm waiting to see if I like it.
It's funny, you know. I didn't even want to start that Xanga account. My closest college friends all had them, and I was an English major who didn't really write anything that wasn't required by classes, so my friends encouraged (*cough*demanded*cough*) that I start one. It turned out to be a pretty good way to keep up with a few of my college friends and a chance for me to get my random ramblings out of my head and out into the world (I can feel your gratitude). I never posted regularly, but I did end up with quite a bit there. I have a few regular followers, who I assume will follow me here, and perhaps some stalkers I didn't know about. In all of those cases, welcome! I suppose...
My goal with my blog is not to change the world or educate or gain a million followers. My intent for this blog is to record my thoughts. If you like to share in those thoughts, I'm glad to have you do so. I hope you gain a few laughs, some food for thought, and a bit of randomness for your days (when I actually post, that is).
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