Today, as if from nowhere, I realised something about myself that most of you probably already know.
I am impulsive.
This came as a surprise because in so many ways I'm not at all impulsive. When asked at a party recently whether I would prefer to 'burn out or fade away' (no context given then so none given now), I immediately chose to 'fade away'. Burning out sounds far too tiring and potentially sudden.
My idea of impulsive people is one of rash devil-may-care (not sure what that means exactly but it seems appropriate) attitudes. People who don't take extra pairs of shoes out with them in case the heels end up being the insensible choice they know them to be. People who aren't afraid of flying, who don't purposely travel at the back of tube trains (because a sensible terrorist wouldn't strike there). People whose favourite activity of all time is not reading.
But the evidence speaks for itself.
When it comes to big, life changing, should-really-spend-some-time-thinking-about-this decisions, I make them in an instant.
Go and visit man in America I've known for 5 days? Naturally
Embark on long-distance relationship when all evidence points to them being painful and, ultimately, disastrous? OK
Do Masters as a way to live in America? Sure thing (this was literally decided in an airport when saying goodbye to Jeremy)
Marry American and move whole life over there with no guarantees of employment or, well, anything? Easy (well, not easy, as you'll know from all my moaning, but the decision was made pretty quickly).
I think I've proved my point. In almost every area of my life, where big decisions are concerned, I listen with my heart. Move with my heart. And when my head catches up I ignore it until my heart makes the argument and wins it around.
Recently this has been a little problematic.
Because Jeremy is the opposite. When it comes to the small everyday things that I'm careful and sensible about, he's as headstrong and carefree as you like. He'll travel on any carriage of a tube train without a passing thought, thinks airplane turbulence is 'fun' and enjoys scuba diving at night in deathly cold temperatures. And on the small things he doesn't think twice - he throws himself into his hobbies with abandon. Bread baking, beer brewing, cheese making, vinegar fermenting. All things that I'd be cautious about because they take up so much time / the equipment costs money / they smell bad , he doesn't give a second thought. But on the big things he takes his time. Chews things over. Considers, weighs, deliberates.
I suppose you could argue that he's made the same decisions as me. He too long-distance-relationshipped and married a foreigner (one who practically wrote into the marriage vows a future move to her homeland). But he did so carefully, with thought. I made up my mind in an instant, Jeremy took, well, longer.
The reason it's been problematic of late is because we are house hunting. And we've found a house. A beautiful, party-perfect, walking-distance-to-shops-and-restaurants house which is not in danger of being consumed by a mud-slide and which doesn't have a septic system that will need replacing in a year. And there's granite in the kitchen and beams on the ceilings and a deck.
So you can guess my decision making process on this matter.
And Jeremy's.
Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, depending how sensible you are), Jeremy is the one with the power in this decision making process. And by power I mean he's the one who's managed to save more than 10 pounds (that's coinage, not weight) in his life. And I do understand that when you've saved enough to buy a beautiful house, you might want to be careful and considered in how / when you part with those savings. You might want to understand the process and be fully aware of all potential pitfalls.
I understand, but it doesn't stop me from jumping up and down with excitement / impatience, waiting for his head to catch up with my heart.
And yes, I also accept that it's a bloody good thing he's the one with the savings power, because I'd have probably bought the house before this house. The one with the septic system and a hill ready to avalanche into it at the next rainstorm.
Uniform
Jeremy has accused me of using this blog as a moaning forum. He's probably right, but it's light-hearted moaning.
On that note, let me talk to you about cold.
This week has seen temperatures drop to record lows. We're talking -15 degrees C and landlords phoning up to tell us to keep taps(faucets) running throughout the night so that the pipes don't freeze and explode. We're also talking waking up to an apartment that's 12 degrees C.
No, don't call domestic abuse hotlines on my behalf, it's OK - I don't mind the heating being off over night and yes I do turn it on the second I manage to summon the will to exit my electric-blanketed bed.
But despite heat, there is still a chill in the air and consequently I have developed a uniform of cold resistance that I don upon waking.
This consists of:
Fuggs - because I can't afford real Uggs and I only wear them inside anyway...although I think they are responsible for the million electric shocks I've been getting whenever I touch anything, including soup.
Pyjamas / leggings / jeans - in that order, depending on how dressed I decide to get that day.
Chunky socks and / or legwarmers - worn over bottom of trousers to prevent drafts.
A million T-shirt type layers - no explanation necessary.
Massive jumper (sweater) - ditto on the explanation.
Scarf - because my neck is always the first thing to get cold.
Fingerless Gloves - aka homeless-person-gloves... although my reason for wearing them is so I can type. If I were a homeless person, I think I'd be wearing finger-full gloves.
Snuggie / Blanket - the Snuggie is a new addition and I only actually put my arms through the arm holes in emergency situations or for comedy value. It's supposed to be worn like an oversized and overfluffy hospital gown, complete with a pocket for the remote, just incase you're too cold or comfortable to reach for it on the coffee-table. However I prefer to wear it like an oversized wizards cape, with a tiny hunchback (from the remote pocket).
Hat. Also only worn in emergency situations. But they can and do happen.
And finally the all important hot water bottle. On hand for emergencies and bed-time. I was amazed to discover that Americans seem to have misplaced the knowledge of this time-honoured warming device. I thin kthis has a lot to do with their ignorance of the super cute teddy-bear-esque covers you can buy to go over them. I am hearby starting a campaign to bring them back in all their teddy-bear covered glory.
So there you have it. The Boston Winter Uniform for all sensible human beings (that don't have to go to work). The only thing I'm missing so far is a nose warmer. I don't know if these exist but they should, because my nose is eternally chilly.
HA! I just did a quick google search and they do exist. I think I may be risking my marriage if I were to include this in my uniform though. And my self respect.
On that note, let me talk to you about cold.
This week has seen temperatures drop to record lows. We're talking -15 degrees C and landlords phoning up to tell us to keep taps(faucets) running throughout the night so that the pipes don't freeze and explode. We're also talking waking up to an apartment that's 12 degrees C.
No, don't call domestic abuse hotlines on my behalf, it's OK - I don't mind the heating being off over night and yes I do turn it on the second I manage to summon the will to exit my electric-blanketed bed.
But despite heat, there is still a chill in the air and consequently I have developed a uniform of cold resistance that I don upon waking.
This consists of:
Fuggs - because I can't afford real Uggs and I only wear them inside anyway...although I think they are responsible for the million electric shocks I've been getting whenever I touch anything, including soup.
Pyjamas / leggings / jeans - in that order, depending on how dressed I decide to get that day.
Chunky socks and / or legwarmers - worn over bottom of trousers to prevent drafts.
A million T-shirt type layers - no explanation necessary.
Massive jumper (sweater) - ditto on the explanation.
Scarf - because my neck is always the first thing to get cold.
Fingerless Gloves - aka homeless-person-gloves... although my reason for wearing them is so I can type. If I were a homeless person, I think I'd be wearing finger-full gloves.
Snuggie / Blanket - the Snuggie is a new addition and I only actually put my arms through the arm holes in emergency situations or for comedy value. It's supposed to be worn like an oversized and overfluffy hospital gown, complete with a pocket for the remote, just incase you're too cold or comfortable to reach for it on the coffee-table. However I prefer to wear it like an oversized wizards cape, with a tiny hunchback (from the remote pocket).
Hat. Also only worn in emergency situations. But they can and do happen.
And finally the all important hot water bottle. On hand for emergencies and bed-time. I was amazed to discover that Americans seem to have misplaced the knowledge of this time-honoured warming device. I thin kthis has a lot to do with their ignorance of the super cute teddy-bear-esque covers you can buy to go over them. I am hearby starting a campaign to bring them back in all their teddy-bear covered glory.
So there you have it. The Boston Winter Uniform for all sensible human beings (that don't have to go to work). The only thing I'm missing so far is a nose warmer. I don't know if these exist but they should, because my nose is eternally chilly.
HA! I just did a quick google search and they do exist. I think I may be risking my marriage if I were to include this in my uniform though. And my self respect.
procrastinating in unusual ways.
So I'm busy applying for jobs while it blizzards outside. The snow and I aren't great friends at the moment, but I'm campaigning to go sledging (sledding) tomorrow at an attempt at reconciliation.
Job applications. (Boo hiss). For the first time in my life though I'm using job search as procrastination tool. Something I can do and pretend to be productive when I really 'should' be doing something else.
What I 'should' be doing (and Jeremy would probably favour my procrastination activity, hence the inverted commas) is writing.
Deep breath.
For the past 6 months or so I've been writing a book. A story that may or may not adopt the form of an actual book. I feel ridiculous admitting that. It feels like admitting I'm auditioning for the X-Factor, following a long-held belief in my talent for singing. I should say here that while I do hope for fame and fortune (and by fame and fortune I mean a book on a shelf in a shop somewhere. I'm not hoping to be the next JK Rowling), I'm also realistic enough to realise that it's highly unlikely. I should also say that it's targeted at 14 year olds. No Ian McEwan or David Mitchell genius here. Oh and I definitely haven't spent every waking minute of those 6 months writing. The vast majority have probably been spent on facebook and watching various American medical dramas.
But either way it's true. And it's provided me with sanity- a sense of productivity, of non-worthlessness - while I've been busy being unemployed. And it's finished. Finished in the sense that it's got an ending. Not finished in the sense that I can stop working on it. Because after 'finishing' comes editing, which turns out is harder than writing in the first place. I feel like I've been posed a complicated maths problem that's niggling away in my head every waking minute. I have plans of attack, but very little attacking motivation. Or perhaps attacking ability.
So instead I'm applying for jobs, while sitting on the couch watching re-runs of 'House'.
(When is Hugh Laurie going to realise that he's just regurgitating the same episode every week and go back to speaking with an English accent and being hilarious?)
I suppose it's a fairly sensible procrastination technique - so that when I don't become a successful writer, I at least might have a job interview or two. Except I don't stand a chance if I don't cut the crap and start editing...
I'll start next week.
Ditto for the post new-year diet.
And exercise...
... although probably not exercise.
Job applications. (Boo hiss). For the first time in my life though I'm using job search as procrastination tool. Something I can do and pretend to be productive when I really 'should' be doing something else.
What I 'should' be doing (and Jeremy would probably favour my procrastination activity, hence the inverted commas) is writing.
Deep breath.
For the past 6 months or so I've been writing a book. A story that may or may not adopt the form of an actual book. I feel ridiculous admitting that. It feels like admitting I'm auditioning for the X-Factor, following a long-held belief in my talent for singing. I should say here that while I do hope for fame and fortune (and by fame and fortune I mean a book on a shelf in a shop somewhere. I'm not hoping to be the next JK Rowling), I'm also realistic enough to realise that it's highly unlikely. I should also say that it's targeted at 14 year olds. No Ian McEwan or David Mitchell genius here. Oh and I definitely haven't spent every waking minute of those 6 months writing. The vast majority have probably been spent on facebook and watching various American medical dramas.
But either way it's true. And it's provided me with sanity- a sense of productivity, of non-worthlessness - while I've been busy being unemployed. And it's finished. Finished in the sense that it's got an ending. Not finished in the sense that I can stop working on it. Because after 'finishing' comes editing, which turns out is harder than writing in the first place. I feel like I've been posed a complicated maths problem that's niggling away in my head every waking minute. I have plans of attack, but very little attacking motivation. Or perhaps attacking ability.
So instead I'm applying for jobs, while sitting on the couch watching re-runs of 'House'.
(When is Hugh Laurie going to realise that he's just regurgitating the same episode every week and go back to speaking with an English accent and being hilarious?)
I suppose it's a fairly sensible procrastination technique - so that when I don't become a successful writer, I at least might have a job interview or two. Except I don't stand a chance if I don't cut the crap and start editing...
I'll start next week.
Ditto for the post new-year diet.
And exercise...
... although probably not exercise.
Snow.
"Whaddya mean you're stuck here?"
Jeremy says as I look out the window morosely, seeing yet another layer of snow falling down to further complicate any path I might want to take to anywhere that isn't our apartment.
"I mean, unless I want a full on expedition out of here then getting anywhere is pretty tough"
"Nah. Stop being negative. Snow is awesome."
I disagree. Snow is only awesome when you're at the top of a hill, sledge in hand, ready to whizz your way to the bottom. The rest of the time, snow is inconvenient, wet and cold. And everywhere. In the past two weeks we've had about 3 feet of snow. None of which has melted, all of which has been ploughed so that the roads are lined with snow-walls. Any attempt to walk along the pavement (sidewalk) is thwarted by intermittent snow walls and the fact that home-owners are responsible for the pavement outside their house and therefore the quality of shovelling corresponds to the errr quality of the homeowner.
Jeremy and I leave it all up to our landlord, who has a snow-blower so it's all fine
So, here I am, a newly anointed driver who as yet has only summoned the courage to drive across town to Walgreens and who definitely does not possess the courage to drive on/in snow (nevermind the fact that my husband has taken the car to work) and unless I'm prepared to snow-shoe my way into town (which I'm not), then I'm stuck here.
Oh and it was 57degrees in the apartment when I woke up this morning.
On the up-side I got given a 'snuggie' (blanket with arm holes and a curious pocket which I think is meant for the remote) for christmas.
Does it get any bleaker than this???
Jeremy says as I look out the window morosely, seeing yet another layer of snow falling down to further complicate any path I might want to take to anywhere that isn't our apartment.
"I mean, unless I want a full on expedition out of here then getting anywhere is pretty tough"
"Nah. Stop being negative. Snow is awesome."
I disagree. Snow is only awesome when you're at the top of a hill, sledge in hand, ready to whizz your way to the bottom. The rest of the time, snow is inconvenient, wet and cold. And everywhere. In the past two weeks we've had about 3 feet of snow. None of which has melted, all of which has been ploughed so that the roads are lined with snow-walls. Any attempt to walk along the pavement (sidewalk) is thwarted by intermittent snow walls and the fact that home-owners are responsible for the pavement outside their house and therefore the quality of shovelling corresponds to the errr quality of the homeowner.
Jeremy and I leave it all up to our landlord, who has a snow-blower so it's all fine
So, here I am, a newly anointed driver who as yet has only summoned the courage to drive across town to Walgreens and who definitely does not possess the courage to drive on/in snow (nevermind the fact that my husband has taken the car to work) and unless I'm prepared to snow-shoe my way into town (which I'm not), then I'm stuck here.
Oh and it was 57degrees in the apartment when I woke up this morning.
On the up-side I got given a 'snuggie' (blanket with arm holes and a curious pocket which I think is meant for the remote) for christmas.
Does it get any bleaker than this???
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)