It is delivered and placed. Cleansed. It looks old but functional. Neatly aligned with the garish sofa and chair. Close to the newly relocated bookcase. Time now to hang pictures. More lamps needed, as had been suggested to me. Maybe add something living?
Next: a computer and printer.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
New desk old desks
In the last week I have viewed hundreds of desks, mostly online, many in person. Today I chose one and it ships to me tomorrow afternoon. I also picked a sofa and love seat for the writer's corner for when layabouts are about the crib. Garish flowery stuff marked way down. The type of furniture that says when the booze is gone, you be gone too. Also a writing desk for Brooke when she visits this summer, for the guest room.
The first writing desk was a schoolteacher type affair that I got at Goodwill for 25.00. Loved that desk. Wrote my first short story on it (Mr. Kindresol). Woke up at 3:00 one morning and sat down and cranked it own long hand. I was hooked after that.
The next was a computer desk that coincided with my 1st computer (which cost 1600.00 Ouch!). Office Max or Depot, forget which. I think 165.00 sounds about right. Most memorable is it, combined with my then queen sized bed, missed fitting in my room by about 4 inches. Out went the bed and I slept on the floor on a mattress. Had to have that desk.
Adams Street and the little writing cove needed its own desk which I got from The Empire for free. A very fine solid wood square type traditional model. It fit so perfectly there that I couldn't bear to bring it to the next location when Adams Street got sold from under me. It found a home on Craig Street holding liquor bottles for the oft inebriated tenant. I hope he found it a nice home after he moved East.
Next was the metallic contraption that caught my fancy. Another computer desk, but this one sometimes shocked me when I touched it. Played a lot of poker on this one. Installation was a hoot -- my co-pilot came over drunk and got much drunker, occasionally shining a light on the instructions while I assembled the damned thing. Mistake on that one all around.
Last desk was regal. A Stone Oak sort of desk. Hand carved. Brass handles. Expensive. It is now in my office, used for matters of Empire and also to pay bills, etc. A lovely desk that I am quite fond of. But not right for what is in front of me now. That needed its own desk. At least in my peculiar world it does.
Today's purchase is used. Bought at 1/2 price. SALE: 1/2 OFF you get the idea. Presentable but has seen better days. Has a nice functional shape to it. Some drawers to fidget with when thinking. To put manuscripts in. Pencils and pens and the like. Reminders and scraps. Has the attachment on it that makes it L-shaped. More space but also kind of sections off this corner of the room so company doesn't get the idea that anyone can sit down at this desk. That's about it. Surely I'll have more to say when it's up and running. Stay tuned.
The first writing desk was a schoolteacher type affair that I got at Goodwill for 25.00. Loved that desk. Wrote my first short story on it (Mr. Kindresol). Woke up at 3:00 one morning and sat down and cranked it own long hand. I was hooked after that.
The next was a computer desk that coincided with my 1st computer (which cost 1600.00 Ouch!). Office Max or Depot, forget which. I think 165.00 sounds about right. Most memorable is it, combined with my then queen sized bed, missed fitting in my room by about 4 inches. Out went the bed and I slept on the floor on a mattress. Had to have that desk.
Adams Street and the little writing cove needed its own desk which I got from The Empire for free. A very fine solid wood square type traditional model. It fit so perfectly there that I couldn't bear to bring it to the next location when Adams Street got sold from under me. It found a home on Craig Street holding liquor bottles for the oft inebriated tenant. I hope he found it a nice home after he moved East.
Next was the metallic contraption that caught my fancy. Another computer desk, but this one sometimes shocked me when I touched it. Played a lot of poker on this one. Installation was a hoot -- my co-pilot came over drunk and got much drunker, occasionally shining a light on the instructions while I assembled the damned thing. Mistake on that one all around.
Last desk was regal. A Stone Oak sort of desk. Hand carved. Brass handles. Expensive. It is now in my office, used for matters of Empire and also to pay bills, etc. A lovely desk that I am quite fond of. But not right for what is in front of me now. That needed its own desk. At least in my peculiar world it does.
Today's purchase is used. Bought at 1/2 price. SALE: 1/2 OFF you get the idea. Presentable but has seen better days. Has a nice functional shape to it. Some drawers to fidget with when thinking. To put manuscripts in. Pencils and pens and the like. Reminders and scraps. Has the attachment on it that makes it L-shaped. More space but also kind of sections off this corner of the room so company doesn't get the idea that anyone can sit down at this desk. That's about it. Surely I'll have more to say when it's up and running. Stay tuned.
Glass Half Full
Yesterday I had the thought that these last six months have been as Robert Bly suggests, or at least as I say he says, a time among the ashes: a regeneration, a necessary time for any man. A time to lay low and hurt and heal. A time to redefine who and what are important. Iron John tells us this and more.
I doubt yesterday's thought was actually yesterday's thought. It might have loosened out a day or so earlier and just got retrieved yesterday. Or it's been kicking around much longer and I've been preoccupied. Latter more likely? No matter. Know that Bly says the ashes require two years and I am unsure how to account for the missing 18 months. It seems that I have been in ash many times - do I keep a running tally? Or do I owe 18 months more? Do I get a factor/multiplier for the degree of ash this last 6 months has brought, to where 1/2 year can equal 2 years?
I am feeling ready to emerge, perhaps a social creature now. Hopeful of movement. Ready to choose travel companions. Ready to choose new poisons. Ready to argue old arguments with a freshened perspective. Less tolerant of excuse, mine and others.
So I say. Let's see what's next.
I doubt yesterday's thought was actually yesterday's thought. It might have loosened out a day or so earlier and just got retrieved yesterday. Or it's been kicking around much longer and I've been preoccupied. Latter more likely? No matter. Know that Bly says the ashes require two years and I am unsure how to account for the missing 18 months. It seems that I have been in ash many times - do I keep a running tally? Or do I owe 18 months more? Do I get a factor/multiplier for the degree of ash this last 6 months has brought, to where 1/2 year can equal 2 years?
I am feeling ready to emerge, perhaps a social creature now. Hopeful of movement. Ready to choose travel companions. Ready to choose new poisons. Ready to argue old arguments with a freshened perspective. Less tolerant of excuse, mine and others.
So I say. Let's see what's next.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Writerly Days
Physical therapy. pain.
A couple of hours with John. from the beginning. problems. promises.
Idle thoughts. a nap. a dream. idyl.
Tea with Adrea. a startling poem. words aplenty. plans.
Salmon soup. dry rye toast.
Homework: exercises, pain.
Organic ice cream: reward. doctor house on the telly. maybe a movie.
A Tobias Wolff short story (reminder: point a to point b without dallying)
John.
A couple of hours with John. from the beginning. problems. promises.
Idle thoughts. a nap. a dream. idyl.
Tea with Adrea. a startling poem. words aplenty. plans.
Salmon soup. dry rye toast.
Homework: exercises, pain.
Organic ice cream: reward. doctor house on the telly. maybe a movie.
A Tobias Wolff short story (reminder: point a to point b without dallying)
John.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Free
Yesterday was good. Met with Boss and told him of my decision. He was very accommodating and said details could be decided by me, how I wished to proceed. "Stay in some capacity. As you wish." Roughly that.
I plan to return to trusting my instincts more. What I feel I need to be doing. Path? Maybe that. I do know that I must channel more energy/time into healing this shoulder -- it has me concerned/worried, which of course is contrary to Path (it would be nice to argue this point over Bourbon with a certain relocated obstinate stoner; maybe another time).
I have always liked the title, Living Deliberately. A helping of that for me now.
I plan to return to trusting my instincts more. What I feel I need to be doing. Path? Maybe that. I do know that I must channel more energy/time into healing this shoulder -- it has me concerned/worried, which of course is contrary to Path (it would be nice to argue this point over Bourbon with a certain relocated obstinate stoner; maybe another time).
I have always liked the title, Living Deliberately. A helping of that for me now.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Days of Empire
Last Tuesday I told my boss I would not be continuing on with my current position (DSM) when I finish rehab/disability. I said in 1 week (tomorrow) I would let him know on a new position he had offered (Brokerage MGR). Everyone assumes I will accept this and start likely 4/01, mainly, I assume, because of my medical issues and, of course, the health insurance. And my living expenses are not insignificant. It would be prudent to take the job.
Competitor A also has 2 offers on the table: the DSM as a fallback should I decide I must do that again; and the Brokerage MGR at what seems to me significantly superior compensation (a large percentage is projection/commission). Insurance and so forth is comparable.
Tomorrow I will tell Boss that I am passing on the new job. We will work something out where I finish my rehab (hopefully released by end of March). COBRA will continue my insurance for 18 months at a reasonable rate. I am tired of working for others, of having a boss. Which means I will have to inform Competitor A that I will not come work for them either (I probably would tire of them much more slowly -- I greatly liked meeting/discussing business with them).
So what is left for me to sort is how I will be earning money for the foreseeable future. I can return to selling insurance for MOO as I did prior to accepting the DSM in 2010. I can open my own shop and work solo or hire and train agents (this is appealing at some level). I can use this time to finish my novel while figuring out some way to keep The Empire reasonably sated so that some income continues whilst I pursue what the hell I want to be doing in the first second and third place. This last choice is the most appealing and, at present, my default position. Details needed to ensure more likely success. Plans.
When I got this place at The Vistana I knew it had to lead to me staying home writing. It is just too spectacular. I remember talking with CC about it, saying it was outrageous on my part. And that screw it, I deserved outrageous. Well here we are. I can't wait to get going again. And I am very nervous. Quite a lot has changed since Adams Street.
Competitor A also has 2 offers on the table: the DSM as a fallback should I decide I must do that again; and the Brokerage MGR at what seems to me significantly superior compensation (a large percentage is projection/commission). Insurance and so forth is comparable.
Tomorrow I will tell Boss that I am passing on the new job. We will work something out where I finish my rehab (hopefully released by end of March). COBRA will continue my insurance for 18 months at a reasonable rate. I am tired of working for others, of having a boss. Which means I will have to inform Competitor A that I will not come work for them either (I probably would tire of them much more slowly -- I greatly liked meeting/discussing business with them).
So what is left for me to sort is how I will be earning money for the foreseeable future. I can return to selling insurance for MOO as I did prior to accepting the DSM in 2010. I can open my own shop and work solo or hire and train agents (this is appealing at some level). I can use this time to finish my novel while figuring out some way to keep The Empire reasonably sated so that some income continues whilst I pursue what the hell I want to be doing in the first second and third place. This last choice is the most appealing and, at present, my default position. Details needed to ensure more likely success. Plans.
When I got this place at The Vistana I knew it had to lead to me staying home writing. It is just too spectacular. I remember talking with CC about it, saying it was outrageous on my part. And that screw it, I deserved outrageous. Well here we are. I can't wait to get going again. And I am very nervous. Quite a lot has changed since Adams Street.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Trouble with Tribbles
It has been an eventful 3 months. Much learned. Much digested but not yet processed. And I am feeling chatty. Update:
My physical recovery moves along on two separate planes. The cardio rehab nears completion and I feel like I have recaptured part of my past. I recognize components of my physicality I feared lost -- balance, posture, movements. I feel me emerge, the familiarity of Self that I had taken for granted before it was lost. But that is past now and it feels so good to recognize the movements of my body.
My shoulder rehab moves slowly and I wonder/fear if I will ever regain full use of my left arm and shoulder. It does not hurt like before and for this I am grateful. I am sleeping much better now; not being woken by the pain as before. But range of motion is not there. I am early in rehab so it is likely that only time and effort are needed. This is what I tell myself. But I fear the worst.
Most of the collateral damage from the CABG surgery has vanished. I don't know if I am among the brain addled 51% mentioned in a previous post, but today I am inclined to give myself the benefit of the doubt. Internal systems seem back online. Full circulation now in my left hand with tingling gone and strength returned to my fingers. I think my chest could withstand a good punch.
And yet what has not passed: every time I roll over, or sit up, or sometimes just rise from a chair, comes an involuntary shrill guttural (goddamn annoying 6 months later) sound from someplace deep. It is a daily reminder that I was split wide, violated, saved. It is if I brace myself against attack, against exposure. It is as if I still cling to something. Or maybe that is not it either. But it is a constant reminder that I have been changed in a large way.
Kismet: Lunched and libraried with William on Friday, discussing writing group members NB and Andrea and Lyle. In the Cellar I come across 2001 Best American Short Stories with NB mention (next 100) and then Saturday run into Andrea (after several years) at HEB, who of course asks about William and Lyle and NB. To coffee with Andrea this week and make plans to restart another group.
Next post: Job Offers and Empire and Decisions;
Next post: Back to work, finally;
My physical recovery moves along on two separate planes. The cardio rehab nears completion and I feel like I have recaptured part of my past. I recognize components of my physicality I feared lost -- balance, posture, movements. I feel me emerge, the familiarity of Self that I had taken for granted before it was lost. But that is past now and it feels so good to recognize the movements of my body.
My shoulder rehab moves slowly and I wonder/fear if I will ever regain full use of my left arm and shoulder. It does not hurt like before and for this I am grateful. I am sleeping much better now; not being woken by the pain as before. But range of motion is not there. I am early in rehab so it is likely that only time and effort are needed. This is what I tell myself. But I fear the worst.
Most of the collateral damage from the CABG surgery has vanished. I don't know if I am among the brain addled 51% mentioned in a previous post, but today I am inclined to give myself the benefit of the doubt. Internal systems seem back online. Full circulation now in my left hand with tingling gone and strength returned to my fingers. I think my chest could withstand a good punch.
And yet what has not passed: every time I roll over, or sit up, or sometimes just rise from a chair, comes an involuntary shrill guttural (goddamn annoying 6 months later) sound from someplace deep. It is a daily reminder that I was split wide, violated, saved. It is if I brace myself against attack, against exposure. It is as if I still cling to something. Or maybe that is not it either. But it is a constant reminder that I have been changed in a large way.
Kismet: Lunched and libraried with William on Friday, discussing writing group members NB and Andrea and Lyle. In the Cellar I come across 2001 Best American Short Stories with NB mention (next 100) and then Saturday run into Andrea (after several years) at HEB, who of course asks about William and Lyle and NB. To coffee with Andrea this week and make plans to restart another group.
Next post: Job Offers and Empire and Decisions;
Next post: Back to work, finally;
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