Archive: September 2009

A progress report on my three resolutions for 2009:

Every day, I will clean for 15 minutes.
This month, I crossed off about 75% of the items on my list. So, yeah, a C is about right, much to my regret. I only have three months left to get to an A! Where are my overachieving tendencies when it comes to cleaning?

Every week, I will write and send my grandmother a note.
Done! I sent her one this morning, rambling about how I have all these grand plans to bake lots of pumpkin goodies this fall. I need to remember to make her prints of a few pictures from the summer so she has them for Thanksgiving.

Every month, I will take at least a few hours just for myself.
One afternoon, when JG was at volleyball, I took Ted out to the back yard. I started a load of laundry in the washer and set myself up on the deck: camp chair, citronella candle, laptop, book, cell phone. It was just cool enough to be comfortable in jeans and long sleeves, and the candle kept away any brave, stubborn insects. I happily checked my e-mail and read a chapter or two of my book, pausing only to check the time and watch Ted roll around in the grass. Soon enough, it was time to head back inside, switch the laundry to the dryer, and start making dinner. I think Ted and I were better for slowing down for a bit, even if it was only a washer’s worth of time.

I spent my entire day manipulating a very important grant proposal into its final form with superscripted citations and a reference list numbered in order of appearance. My boss and I split up the work so that neither of us had to handle the whole job on such a short timeline, but since my half was the back end, I had to wait until her section was completed before finishing mine. That is, I had from 1pm until the end of the day to correct previous superscripted citation numbers according to a complicated spreadsheet I concocted that told me the original number, a revised number, and whether any of my citations were duplicates of previous entries. Because the grant hailed from a team of authors, the references were in various stages of completion and coherence, and I had to sift through their revisions and decipher which references stayed and went, which ones substituted for others, and whether their changes resulted in repeated citations and redundant numbering. My eyes were bleary from staring at a screen of single-spaced, 11-point Times New Roman type with green-highlighted citations and toggling back to my cheater spreadsheet riddled with comments. Ten minutes before 5pm, I sent an e-mail to the lead author with the final grant proposal, replete with its 378 references. Oh, yes. Three hundred. Seventy-eight. All accounted for, formatted, cited in order, and superscripted.

Then I went home immediately. If there are any revisions to this so-called final version, I won’t know about it until I get into work tomorrow, which, coincidentally, is also the deadline to apply for this grant. Somehow, it always ends up this way.

Even amidst the filtering, record-keeping, nit-picking, item-checking madness of the last two weeks, I was never fully at odds with the assignment. Sure, the authors gave us the document with the assumption that it just needed “some polishing,” failed to meet all of their deadlines, gave us three conflicting versions to reconcile, and continued to submit revisions after the final cut. Despite all of that, I had strange satisfaction in simply knowing that I am good at this.

I’m good at wrestling a mangled document into some form of cohesion. I can keep track of a host of data points and make sure they make it onto the page in a readable fashion. I know how to track my work for future conversations, and my filing system keeps all the versions in their rightful places. I am wired to make sense out of the best-intentioned nonsense.

What’s behind this unexpected boost of confidence?

Over the weekend, I made my foray into the freelancing world, thanks in part to you! Since Thursday, I have followed up on a few good leads, reached out to friends to keep me on their radars, e-mailed contacts from a freelance workshop, set up a couple of meet-ups at my upcoming conference, and scheduled a call with a headhunter. Writing cover letters and rereading my resume helped me realize that maybe I could pull off being a freelancing. I can do it. I’m going to do it.

Taking steps toward building my professional network means I am not working toward a master’s degree, and that makes me a little bit sad. I always assumed that I’d earn one in something, but five years later, I have no prospects that pique my interest and stay within my budget. So, I’m trying another path to the profession I always wanted, and it’s simultaneously thrilling and sobering because I can’t help but wonder if I am okay with bypassing that academic goal. Maybe the route I assumed I would take is not the only way to the destination, and maybe I’m just on a scenic detour that will take me through academia one day.

I told JG last night that I feel so much better about what I’m doing now than when I was slogging through a graduate course, and if nothing else, it’s forward motion.  I’m taking teeny, tiny baby steps, but I’m moving in the right direction.

Which magazine should I read? Two years ago, I had a subscription to Real Simple, but it exasperated me with its “best buys” that were way out of my price range. Last year, I tried The New Yorker, but I could not keep up with the steady barrage of reading material. If only I could get the first issue of every month! That would be just right. So, this year, I’m back to Real Simple, and I remember why I let it run out the last time. I’m not completely sure why I feel the need to get a magazine every month, but it’s nice to have something to flip through during an idle ten minutes or so. Should I try Martha Stewart Living, despite my innate distrust of Martha? Is Everyday Food worth it? Are there any other magazines out there with recipes, entertaining ideas, and thrifty living? Or should I just let this go and accept the fact that I’d rather read books?

What should I do in Dallas? I’m visiting for the first time next month for a conference, and I’ll be there for four days. Most of my hours are spoken for, but I am on the hunt for places to eat that are moderately inexpensive, fairly casual, and not sketchy if I go by myself. Also, I may have a free morning or afternoon to entertain myself, so any suggestions for cheap (but preferably free) activities or attractions within walking distance are also appreciated. According to my very cursory search on Google Maps, my hotel is near The Majestic, if that means anything to anyone. In a more general sense, what is specific to Dallas, in terms of food and culture? What shouldn’t I miss? What’s the weather like in October?

What can I edit or write for you? Lately, I have come to the realization that, ultimately, I want to be a full-time freelancer. I knew when I took this job that it has a certain expiration date, so I am taking steps to make a concerted effort to seek out freelance editing and writing jobs with the hope that I can strike out on my own when the time comes. So! To that end, I have posted a new link in my navigation bar to a For Hire page — special thanks to OPH and Val for proofreading it! I am paranoid about being schmoozy, but I have to keep reminding myself that I’m just networking! Which is my favorite thing! It seems to be an occupational hazard of soliciting work. You, there! Do you want my card?

Seriously, though, I would really appreciate any leads or advice. Do you have any projects that could use an editor? Does your organization typically hire freelancers? Do you know anyone in a similar position I could contact?

Yesterday.

In the morning, JG tells me not to kiss him good-bye; he has a sore throat. I arrive at the office, and an early e-mail says it’s the worst sore throat he’s had in a while. The team has a match at a distant school in the afternoon, and he’s already exhausted. It’ll be a long day.

My boss’s boss is moving into the office across the hall. There’s a lot of bluster and dust, and I can’t help but succumb to major office furniture envy when I peek into the office. I guess that’s part of being higher on the ladder. Despite my best intentions, I’m twenty minutes late in leaving at the end of the day, and then my boss talks my ear off. The bag weighing down my shoulder does not hint strongly enough that I didn’t intend to stand in her doorway for an extra twenty minutes.

I have to walk Ted before I make dinner, so I decide to risk it with a shorter one. The up side is that I get back more quickly; the down side is that he may bounce off the walls from being cooped up day. This time, it’s the up side, and Ted is not a menace. It takes me an inordinately long time to cook dinner, and JG calls me when he leaves school after the game. He doesn’t sound good. I don’t think the game went well, either.

When JG gets home, I’m sitting on the couch with a plateful of dinner, chewing silently as some cake decorating challenge blares from the television.

“I’m home,” he says faintly.

“Hey,” I respond.

JG fixes himself a plate, and we eat together for a while, exchanging sound bytes about our days in between bites of food. The volleyball match was bad. I couldn’t get hold of the groomer. His throat was killing him. I was struggling with a huge grant. Short, declarative, non-elaborate sentences — it’s all we can muster.

We watch the DVRed premiere of House. JG sips at a mug of tea, and I work on scarf #5. The two-hour episode is almost merciful in its heft and depth because we can simply sit and absorb it. No interaction needed. Our brains are off.

At one point, JG gets up to turn on the dishwasher. Ted jumps on the couch with a grin. My knitting needles click. Then it’s time for bed.

We’ve barely had a full conversation, but the message is clear: we are so tired.