Dropping the Ball (in NYC and elsewhere)

Okay.

I saw Chuck and the kid last night, so I could deliver the Kid's Christmas present (and a baguette, and a stollen), and I also got to have dinner with them, which was at a cheap Mexican place around the corner from Chuck's apartment. I think it went okay, which would be good. I know that sounds weird, but the reality is, with these outings, it seems like it went okay, and then I get a ration of shit from Chuck, usually a couple of days later, because the fact that I'm nice and so on apparently makes the breakup harder to deal with. Or something. Chuck looks and sounds good, though, so I'm hoping it'll be okay this time; perhaps the fact that he'll be off to his mom's today with the Kid (they're doing their Christmas this weekend), then back to a New Year's day party with his current Special Friend, will help. (Yes, when we do talk/see each other, I often get updates on his love life, which is fine with me. I don't provide any information of my own, however.)

I was in a good mood today, for awhile. My coworkers all wished me a happy new year (with a firm handshake, no less, which I found strangely touching), I got out of work early (noon! yay!), which means I got my groceries (back to that in a minute) and I'll get some editing done, which is good, because I have to work tomorrow (boo!), but also must get some editing work done. Turns out that BT's restaurant wants much bigger wads of mini croissants than usual, and I didn't have enough stashed in the freezer, so I made some dough, which is fermenting in the walk-in even as I type, and I'll go in and laminate the dough, make up two orders of mini pastries (for customer orders), and cut up the croissants, which should get me out of there by 11 at the latest, I'm hoping. I'm going to a friend's house tomorrow, and I'm supplying a bunch of the food (except the ham), mostly because I like to cook. In addition to the aforementioned ham, he has some squash (probably acorn; I haven't seen it) that he wants to use up, so I'm going to make a mushroom/brown rice/wheatberry pilaf, throw in some black-eyed peas, carrots, and spinach, stuff the squash, and throw some cheddar on top. Avocados were on sale, so I made an executive decision in favor of guacamole, which means I also got a tomato and some cilantro (which I can also use with the mangos in my refrigerator, and some black beans, to make something to bring for lunches). Pears were on sale, too, so I think I'm going to poach them, perhaps in white wine with some ginger, honey, cinnamon, and vanilla, and then serve them on gingerbread, which I also have to make. With whipped cream, even, maybe. And there's half a loaf of cinnamon-raisin brioche in the freezer, which makes excellent French toast.

So that all had me humming (INSIDE my head; I try not to hum out loud), but then I came home and found out that one of the insurance companies has declined to cover me. If the other one says no, too--and, really, why wouldn't it--then I'm seriously fucked. Really, it's a good thing I'm not seeing Chuck today; if he'd paid the fucking COBRA on time, and/or been willing to sign me up on his new company's insurance (he starts on January 2, I guess), then it probably would not have been nearly as difficult to switch. All I can do is hope the insurance agent with whom I'm dealing can help me. It is so fucking depressing.

But I can't think about that now, not least because I can't do a thing about it until Tuesday at the earliest, and, second, I have a ton of more productive things to do and think about. (Tomorrow would have been my sister's 47th birthday, but I don't feel like going down that road today.) If I don't get around to posting before the new year comes along, I wish you all the best of everything. May this year be better than last year.

One New Project

I did it--I bought this, in preparation for turning it into a needlepoint. I wasn't able to find a cheaper print (and I wanted something resembling true color), but I saw they had a sale going on, so WTF. Now I have to suck it up and get an Ott light, and I notice that Blick has cheaper prices on them (plus I get a discount there, and I'll see if they'll ship to a store for free), but I need to decide whether to get a floor model or a table model. The latter is cheaper, but the former is easier to move around, especially in my apartment. And, of course, I have to get the scrim and draw the picture and get the thread, so I won't actually take the first stitch for at least two weeks, I'm guessing. And I don't know where I'm going to find the time to do all of this, but I've been missing having a needlepoint on which to work, so it's time to start a new one.

I keep thinking I'm going to do something today--and I've managed to do the laundry and make my tea for the week--but mostly I'm sitting around. Given that sitting has not been a prominent part of my life for the past two weeks, I don't feel particularly slothful. I may even sit some more later, the better to watch the rest of "Slapshot," so I can send it back to Netflix, and possibly break open one of my presents to myself (I used a gift certificate to get "This is Spinal Tap," "Animal House," "Caddyshack," and Bruce at the Odeon in London, the first two of which arrived today; yes, I know, not exactly what you'd expect an old broad to select, but there you go). What I wish I could do is find my father's pocket watch. I know where it used to be, at the old apartment, but I have no clue where it is now. I've looked in all of the likely locations--at least three times--and several unlikely ones, and now I'm at a loss. I have no clue where I could have put it, and I have no idea where else to look. Either I've outsmarted myself and put it somewhere Safe, in which case it will presumably show up at some point, or I've truly lost it, which would upset me.

It's becoming apparent that I'm not going to come up with anything more profound than this drivel, so I'll spare you any more of it. Do any of you have any plans, exciting or otherwise, for New Year's Eve? Does anyone actually go out? Someone must, given the hordes of people you see on television.

Gifts

Well, I canned the laundry goal, as well as the yoga goal--but I did get up and practice some yoga this morning, which felt good. I also decided to go to Jane's this afternoon. Mostly, I'd been waiting to make sure i was okay this morning, i.e., not maudlin and weepy and crabby, because I really don't want to "share" that with anyone, thanks so much, and I don't want to expect others to pull me out of it, and I don't want to mingle with others when I'm feeling that way. But, it turns out, I'm not feeling that way at all, so I think being social might be just the thing.

Meanwhile, I spoke with my mother this morning, for quite a while, and we had a lovely conversation. I was wondering whether she'd send a Christmas check this year, after our little run-in in August, and, apparently, though the mail has not brought it to me yet, she has not only done so, she's increased the amount, to "make up for what they gave my brother to help him redo his house." Thanks, mom--that's very, very generous of you, and I appreciate it tremendously. (Don't worry; I'll tell her again myself.) I'm certainly not going to run out and spend it willy-nilly (I probably won't spend any of it, if you want to know), but it definitely provides a little breathing room; hell, I might even join the Y after all, especially since there are no joining fees for the first two weeks of January. Ed pointed out that I can join for a couple of months, see if I'm actually managing to work handball or exercise into my schedule, and, if I'm not, drop the membership.

My mother seems to be becoming reconciled to the notion that I'm doing what I'm doing. I've known all along that her freaking out has more to do with worry about me than anything else, but that doesn't make her expression of it any more pleasant. We even talked about my impending divorce, which we hadn't discussed much at all.

Oddly enough, what I think is at the heart of her reconciling herself to me is being around my younger nephew. It's becoming clear that he's exceptionally smart. His teachers certainly say so, and I've been telling anyone who would listen that he is--devising scientific experiments to prove something is not what 6- (now 7-)year-olds typically do, for example. (As a side note, there's apparently a joking debate about the source of his intelligence, with my brother and my SIL each claiming responsibility--my mother claims it's from me, however, which I find entertaining, seeing as how I had no hand in it.) My mother will often point out that my older nephew is smart, too (which he is), but I pointed out to my mother that it's a lot like me and my sister. My sister always got good grades, she was clearly quite smart--but it was clear, to her and me and to everyone else, that I was smarter, that I had something--call it what you will--that she simply did not. I don't know how to describe it, really, and living with it is sort of an adventure (and my mom said it was kind of scary to her, having me as a kid), but I also know it's there, and I often forget that it's not something everyone has. (One could also say, if I'm so smart, how come I'm not rich, and that's a good question.) Anyway, I think the fact that I pointed out how smart he is, way back in May, sticks in my mom's head, and, as he goes along in school, the parallels become easier to see as well, which somehow works to reconcile my mother, again, to what appear to her to be my oddities and what, to me, is my life.

The other chore I did this morning was sort through and pay my bills and reconcile the budget, which always makes me feel better. Even when money is tight, knowing where I stand helps me. I hope, for his sake, that Chuck learns how to do that some day; he inches closer to it, I think, but then he has episodes of shutting his eyes and plugging his ears and singing la-la-la really loudly, and my experience has been that that never improves the situation.

I realize I'm getting ahead of myself by a couple of days, but I think my "resolutions" for January are to figure out how to work yoga and aerobic exercise (possibly handball) back into my life and to set up a website for the editing work, so I can try to solicit business from the local universities and colleges. I'd thought that this past year would be about getting some solid experience in the baking business and developing a business plan for my own baking business; I certainly accomplished the first part, but the second part was dependent, at least in my initial assumptions, on Chuck helping to support me while I started that business. As a result of the disintegration of my relationship with Chuck, the past year has been about getting the experience in the industry, but it's also been about survival.

On my bad days, I feel like a complete loser. I've never owned a house or a car, or, indeed, anything worth more than a couple thousand dollars. I've earned (and paid for) several degrees I don't appear to be using. I spent my savings on a marriage that didn't last a year, and I loaned most of the rest of my savings, over time, to the person I married and will soon be divorcing, which isn't exactly a testament to my judgment. I won't be able to live on my Social Security earnings. My relationships have been . . . other than normal, and I don't seem to be able to manage a partnership in the usual sense of the word. Not only do I not have a "career," I've made a series of choices that would make it difficult for me to find a normal office job at this point, were I to want, say, a regular schedule, paid vacation days, etc.

On my good days, I feel resourceful. I've managed to go through some difficult times with a good credit rating, which makes certain kinds of transactions easier to manage. At the moment, I actually seem to have two careers, and I could start my own business in either one of them eventually, were I to want to do that. (I also recognize, better than many people, I think, just what it would take to do that, which is why I'm not leaping into it, even as I don't rule it out completely.) I have an incredible array of friends and a wide variety of relationships. I have a pretty incredible array of ex-bosses, for that matter, all of whom would or do help me. I know how to do a lot of different things (though I'm not as good about sharing or passing that stuff on as I'd like to be--which reminds me, one thing I will do with my Christmas gift from my parents is start a new needlepoint, and, perhaps, even get a full-spectrum lamp so I can work on it when it's dark). I may not have a lot of material possessions, but I really don't feel deprived. I feel lucky, most of the time, and wealthy, even if my wealth isn't of the material kind. Like my maternal grandfather, I'm managing to squeeze a lot of entertainment into my life.

And, you know, despite the occasional sadness and depression, I'm pretty happy. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop somehow, and, some days, the ache of sadness is pretty strong, but it doesn't seem to make any kind of sense to me--rational, emotional, psychological, whatever--to wallow in or chase after something that has shattered so badly. Some broken dishes can be repaired and used; some chipped dishes can be used anyway; but shattered dishes, well, you're better off sweeping up the pieces and resigning yourself to the loss of the dish, no matter how much you loved it. Chuck and I had some very good times together, and we were able to give each other the best of ourselves, at least for a little while. My biggest regrets are the other people who got dragged into it--the friends and relatives who came to our wedding; our families; his son--and the legal hassles we still have to manage. It's embarrassing--and it's difficult to discuss, given how short a time the marriage lasted. Yes, fine, we were "together" for longer, but I'm sure people wonder what the hell went on, and I have no desire to tell them, not least because I don't have any idea how to tell that story fairly, and I have no desire to tell it unfairly.

I also must say to you all that your readership, your comments, knowing that you're out there, has been a wonderful gift to me this year, and I thank you for it.

Sitting is Good

Lordy.

It was kind of like a force of nature. I was (relatively) exempt from a certain aspect of it, in that I planned ahead and was able to stock up on croissants. For items that can't be made ahead of time (e.g., baguettes and ciabatta), however, that wasn't an option, and there's just a certain amount of stuff that can be made in any given day. Friday and today I was basically a utility infielder; Friday, especially, I lent a hand to whomever seemed to need something right this minute (mostly Phil), and I cleaned up after people a little (like sweeping the walk-in, which was filthy).

Yesterday I had to make a ton of croissants--fill in the gaps for our usual batches; make up for the unbelievable amounts we sold in the store on Friday and, to a lesser extent, yesterday; and make sure there were enough mini croissants to fill orders (usually we use frozen crappy ones for customer orders, but, since I was making them anyway, Bossman asked me to make the good ones--about nine dozen extra, to be precise) and send them to BT's restaurant. Today I wrapped two chocolate mousse cakes in sort-of-tootsie-roll stuff (which was almost a disaster, because the batch that Bossman made yesterday, he made wrong, and it was Failing, in the sense of tearing and being unworkable, all over the place, but luckily the rest of the batch I made a couple of months ago was still around somewhere), then filled a bunch of mini pastry orders (which would have gone more smoothly if Brad hadn't tried to Help), made up a piece of mini chocolate croissants, and left, at about 11:30.

Friday night was the memorial service for my handball friend, and it was quite nice, if also--of course--sad. I saw many people I haven't seen in awhile, many of whom seemed genuinely glad to see me. And my friend's wife--whom I also know and like tremendously--had put together two collages of photos, which was nice, too. It's still sort of surreal. He would have turned 72 on the 8th, as I noted, and he played handball just before he and his wife went off to visit their daughter, so he appeared to be doing just fine. I saw him over the summer, when I went to the handball gathering, but I didn't talk to him after that--too wrapped up in my own crap. I'm really sad to think that I won't get to see him again, that I won't get to tell him what's going on.

And, while a lot of the past week has actually been nice (and I'll get to that in a minute), tonight is difficult. Chuck and I used to dress up and go out on Christmas eve, to a local restaurant that had a big fancy Cuban dinner; we usually picked up the kid on Christmas day before heading to Chuck's mom's house, so we had the eve to ourselves. The food was delicious; we stuffed ourselves and waddled home. Last year, given our (even more than I thought) precarious financial situation, we decided that would be our gift to each other--our last gifts to each other, as it turned out. And that's been an undercurrent, off and on all week--I'm sad. It's not that I somehow want him back, or secretly want to reconcile: I've become convinced that that's not desirable or possible. It's not anger at how he lied to me or betrayed me or whatever; I could work up a rant, if need be, but I don't have a lot of anger left. It just takes away my breath to think about how quickly things just fell apart. How we went from Apparently Okay, Even If There Are a Few Issues, to Almost Divorced, from joyously happy at our wedding, to barely speaking, in no time at all. And I've discovered I hate telling people about it, because there's no way to discuss it without it sounding like All His Fault, but I just don't want to deal in blame. What's the point? To make it Not My Fault, somehow? And, really, I don't care what he did, we were in the same relationship. kstyle sent a link, in a comment to the post below, to a poem that really expressed a lot of it for me (thank you muchly, k). So, yeah, tonight's kind of difficult. I still don't know what I'm doing tomorrow--I'll see, in the morning, whether I feel up to going to Jane's house. I'm fairly certain that's what I want to, and will, do, but if I'm too exhausted (I'm nodding out, and it's only a little after 5 pm) from this week's marathon, or if I'm too antisocial, I'd be better off staying home.

Other parts of this week were quite nice, though. Friday night, after the memorial service, I met a friend for a beer, and he later rubbed my tired, aching feet for me (thus earning a place in my personal pantheon). Last night, I met a friend for a pleasant, low-key meal at a local place; it was nice to have a meal and a beer knowing that I only had to get through today.

And only one more week of Brad, which pleases me and everyone else at the bakery (including, I think, Bossman). He was trying to be pleasant today, but we're all so tired of him that it's just wearing. I'll have to work pretty closely with him next week, so I get the invoicing crap down well enough, but I can manage that.

Eh; whatever. Tomorrow I want to do a load of laundry; sort through my finances (one of the things that I had to neglect a bit the past two weeks); call my family; possibly (but not for sure) go to the yoga class; and possibly go to Jane's. Modest goals, but about what I can manage. And, hey--a belated happy solstice to you all.

If feet could talk . . .

mine would be whining up a storm right now.

Only 10.5 hours today, so, hey, practically a vacation day. It also turns out that I (along with everyone else) have to work on Sunday, too, so no three-day holiday after all. The intensity is really pretty amazing--I haven't seen anything remotely like it in the past year. It's like a mid-July farmers' market Friday, except it's been going at that pace for more than a week, and I have a feeling that Sunday's culmination is going to be completely over the top. Today I tried to stock up on regular-sized croissants to get us through until next Wednesday, and Saturday I'm going to stock up on the mini croissants we're making for BT's restaurant. We don't have their order for the weekend yet (though BT stopped by the other day and said they had 290 people coming for brunch on christmas day), so I decided to hold off until Saturday, in the hope of not making too many or too few. I expect I'll spend Sunday putting together sweet table trays and boxes and generally being a utility infielder.

All I know is that I'm tired. I can't always remember what day it is, and my feet hurt all the time. Jane invited me to join her gathering on christmas day, but I don't know if I'll be up for that (and, sundry deities bless her, she's willing to let me decide either way at the last minute). Doing a lot of nothing sounds like a fine way to spend the day--though (did I mention this here?) one of my favorite yoga teachers is teaching a class in the morning, at a studio where I have a bunch of class passes and could therefore attend for free, so I could do that. It would be a good way to get myself back into some kind of healthy experience. I've been getting plenty of weightlifting and stand-on-my-feet "exercise," but no aerobic exercise and no yoga, and I've been eating a lot of crap. And a massage: I want one of them, too.

And i want to get through the "holidays" as best I can, which is even more of a challenge this year than it usually is. But I don't feel like writing about that now.

Ehhh

That was my transliteration of a whine, of which is about what I'm capable. I worked 10 hours Tuesday, picked up the kid's present, had beer with friends, and slept, oh, about four hours. At least I wasn't laying awake Fretting, but it's still not enough sleep, and I couldn't get back to sleep. Yesterday I worked 11 hours, much of it spent trying not to smack Brad upside the head. Today, probably more of the same (though I slept like a stone last night). And Bossman will be gone most of next week, which means just me and Brad. But then--he'll be gone.

Off to the croissant mines.

Lost Knowledge

This article fascinated me, and it also made me think of lost knowledges. The people interviewed in the story were old--many in their 70s, 80s, or 90s--and it was THEIR grandparents and granduncles who actually had the knowledge to identify the stuff. I've heard that it's hard to find people who know a lot of construction techniques--stonework of various sorts, for example--like the stuff that would be on churches or the like, for the same reasons, i.e., the knowledge isn't being passed along, and, most likely, it needs to be passed along in an apprentice-like fashion, rather than in a book, say. The "old" knowledges with which I work most frequently--cooking, baking, and needlework--seem to have lasted better.

Food preparation is a mixed one, I suppose. On one hand, some things have gotten much easier because of refrigeration and industrial canning, but fewer people know how to preserve foods without refrigeration. (Even the latest revision of Joy of Cooking leaves out that stuff, IIRC, which is a shame; I've long regarded Joy as a great basic resource.) And while machines and the mass production of food are killing everyone's taste buds (or drowning them in chemicals, salt, and sugar), some machines make life much easier. You really need a big mixer to make 100 pounds of detrempe for croissants, for example, and a large two-way sheeter, as well. (Detrempe is the dough into which the butter is laminated, and this is a sheeter, or, rather, the site of the company that made our sheeter. The one in the upper right corner looks sort of like ours, except ours is old.) Can you make croissants without a sheeter? Yeah, of course you can, but not one person, at the volume I'm producing.

What is that volume? This past week, I made approximately 675 plain croissants, 285 almond, 335 chocolate, 120 cinnamon raisin, and 360 ham and cheese. Those numbers are about a third higher during the farmers' market season (except for the ham and cheese, which we can't sell at the market), such that I'm making well over a thousand plain croissants a week in July and August. Thanks to BT's restaurant, you can add somewhere around 400 plain, 360 chocolate, and 170 raisin each week to those totals, although they're about half the size of our regular croissants (which basically means separate production runs, at some point).

Bossman likes to automate as much as possible. Thus, for example, we've found a way to use the makeup line to make the mini chocolate ones, and we have a handy rolling pin/cutter for the full-size filled ones (a tool that I think was custom-made), and we have cutters for use on the makeup line for filled ones, as well, but, labor-wise, it's a wash between having me do them and running them down the line, because the latter is faster but requires several people. But we've been unable to find a good machine to roll the plain ones--he had an old one, and it was awful, and he got another one recently for cheap, and it also sucked. To his credit, he doesn't say "use the machine anyway," just to save time--he recognizes that the product is seriously inferior. I have to say, it's one of the reasons I really like working with/for him: he wants to make money, certainly, but he really likes making a good product.

I'm trying to convince him that he needs to focus more on the things at which he excels and not do things like make pastry cream. Yes, I greatly appreciate working for someone who will do any task--and I told him that on Saturday. But a friend of his dad's always says to Bossman, "Make the expensive stuff first." That is, spend your energy on the things that will bring in the most money--which is why he got a new display case, so we can display the cakes that Johnnie is decorating where customers can see them. I told Bossman it also means he should be making pastries and decorating cakes--same principle. Which I think surprised him a little. It's going to be interesting working with him without Brad around.

Anyway, despite today's productivity so far (I've done three loads of laundry; portioned out and frozen my chicken stock; repotted an aloe plant that was very badly potbound; and made all of my tea for the week, which, since I've found more containers, amounted to 7.5 liters), I still have to take a shower and go pick up the Kid's christmas present, though I could do that tomorrow, I suppose. The shower cannot wait until tomorrow, however.

Nope, No Bar Fights

Last night i was suddenly visited by pain in my left jaw joint, and it's still there today. It's more a numbness or stiffness than a searing pain (except if I try to chew something hard). Nevertheless, I took ibuprofen all day and tried not to clench my teeth, which is what I strongly suspect has caused this. If I weren't such a slug, I'd be doing yoga right now instead of typing. I logged over 50 hours at work this week, and that seems to me to be the most likely cause--the work itself, plus Brad's pain-in-the-assness, plus the increased stress from trying to get things right for BT's restaurant. (The title of this post is from Bossman, who wanted to know if the jaw pain was from having been in a bar fight.)

Brad wasn't there today, so everyone was happier. I broke down and told Bossman what Brad said about "no more bullshit" at the new job, which entertained Bossman to no end--we giggled about it all day today, along with the "we'll just get [frozen product] from the supplier" remark. I made Bossman promise not to tell Brad about the bullshit comment. We discussed Brad's lack of taste--and Bossman has noted this before, saying that Brad is "such an American." Which is a little interesting, given that Bossman is about as American as they come, as am I, in several important dimensions. I understand what he's getting at, of course, though I wouldn't put it quite that way.

After work, I hauled my ass to Whole Paycheck and bought groceries--primarily so I could make chicken stock tomorrow or Monday, because I'm nearly out--which meant I lugged 437 pounds of food a total of about a mile (from WP to the train, and from the train to my apartment). Even though I generally don't like baths, I'd take one now if my tub didn't take three days to fill. What I am going to do is a couple of minutes of yoga, and then I'm going to make some dinner; I never did get around to eating a proper meal today. I didn't make any lunch for the crew today, either, so I really haven't had much more than a couple of mouthfuls of croissants or scraps. Then again, I'm not going to be wasting away . . .

Taste

I'm still in health insurance heck, which means I'm faxing permissions to examine my medical records, and waiting on hold so I can talk about my cervix (or whatever other body part is of interest today), and so on. One of the forms required an e-signature, which is fine--except they require a Windows machine for said operations. Sorry, campers: I don't have one, and I won't use one to transmit things like my social security number anyway. They're going to mail it to me and I'll send or fax it back (I suppose I could have gone to the library or something, but there is no WAY I'd do stuff like that on a public computer). But also: What are they thinking? I am certainly not the only person with a Mac. My guess is that they've got some kind of windows-based database behind their forms or something; that's the benefit-of-the-doubt guess. But still. Figure out a workaround, people.

We got our first order for breakfast pastries for BT's restaurant today--for Monday. I hadn't planned on making any croissants tomorrow, but Bossman just called to tell me about the order, and he's going to mix up a small batch of dough so we have enough on hand for Monday and Tuesday. In addition to plain and chocolate, they're ordering raisin croissants, some muffins (about which I don't need to care), AND gibassier, which I know will gladden BT's heart. Bossman noted that the gibassier we have in the freezer weren't very nice, primarily because Brad's heart isn't in it (Brad made the gibassier) and hasn't been for awhile, so Bossman was making the sponge for the gibassier, too.

Today's Brad episode: As I mentioned yesterday, Bossman and I cut up some plain croissants yesterday, trying to get the size/weight correct, and he baked them this morning. They were quite lovely, though a teensy bit large (they weighed about 1.3 ounces baked, and we need to get a little closer to an ounce). As we stood there looking at them (and admiring our work, if you want to know), discussing the size thing, Brad walks into the discussion--and suggests we just get frozen ones from a food supplier. Um, no. If they wanted crap, they could continue using what they use now. He also made a big deal about how I didn't offer him a croissant (i was urging coworkers to have one, because we couldn't sell them)--and then of course said he didn't want one when I offered to get one for him. Asshole.

I figured out today that the problem with learning the ordering/invoicing system is that Brad is trying to teach me the steps without making the principles behind it clear. For example, some number of invoices have to be treated differently. Why? They just do. Okay, but how will I know if someone else falls into that category somehow? Basically, my plan is to learn enough to be competent, and then, as noted, switch systems as soon as possible. It also helps that I am bright enough to figure out that I have to push him for the principles, not just the steps.

I have discussed (with BT as well as with other pastry school friends) the importance of passion when it comes to food. You really must be in touch with the sensual aspects of eating and of taste, and you have to be passionate about creating a good product. Brad seems to be missing both of those things, somehow. I can't tell how much is burnout from this particular job and how much is a simple lack of passion, but I think that it's both things, not just the former. Bossman has been making and eating this stuff for years, and he still enjoys it. I cut one of the mini croissants today (so I could check the lamination inside) and he grabbed half of it (I grabbed the other half) and ate it and said, "What could be better than that?"

Here's another thing about the holidays this year that's a drag. The bakery is closed six days during the year, and three of them are Christmas, the day after Christmas, and New Year's Day. We get paid for closed days if we would be scheduled to work that day--and of course, since I'm off on Sunday and Monday, I only get paid for the 26th this year. Eh; I'll be racking up enough overtime in the coming weeks to make up for it--I'm already over 40 hours this week, and I still have tomorrow to go. But it would have been nice to get some money without having to stand on my aching feet to earn it.

12 Days

until the holiday music goes away . . .

Only another buck an hour. Oh well. If it looks like it's going to be too much work, too much time, or in some other way not worth it, then another conversation will be had. And Brad cannot leave too soon. He is so petty, and such a pain in the ass, he will not be missed. One of his most annoying traits is when he says "we" have to do something when what he means is "you" have to do something. Dude, if you want me to do something, ask or tell me to do it. Don't think that by saying "we" I'm going to somehow miss the point that you punched out while I made the fucking challah dough. At 5:45 pm today. After punching in at 6:30 this morning. The funniest thing Brad has said, though, was when he said Tuesday, while describing his new job (at my request) that he wouldn't be putting up with bullshit any more. I didn't say anything, but I nearly laughed out loud. Um, Brad, there is ALWAYS bullshit, especially at your job: that's why they have to pay you to show up. He thinks that, because he's going to be in charge at this new place, he'll get to run everything and it'll be perfect. He's young--can you tell?

Also: my loathing for holiday music has only become more intense. The store radio and Artie's radio are tuned to a station that plays ONLY holiday music now. As a result, I heard "Frosty the Snowman" FOUR TIMES yesterday. Same with Rudolph. I'm ready to smack somebody by the end of the day. Given that the days are getting long--11.5 hours today, and a total of more than 30 hours in the past three days--the music only makes things worse. When i got home from work, my across-the-hall neighbor was playing old Aerosmith ("Sweet Emotion") so loudly I could hear it inside my apartment. S/he played it, oh, 10 times? in the subsequent two hours. A few minutes ago I heard someone pounding on the door, and the music is gone now, so apparently I'm not the only person who'd had quite enough.

I'm starting to learn the invoicing system, and it's a little bit of an adventure in tedium. The current system will be in place only until everything can be switched to Quickbooks, and I'm going to implement that as quickly as I possibly can. Once I finish up the two side jobs I have at the moment, I'll spend a Monday or two at the bakery just working with that shit. One of the side jobs is copyediting, but the other is writing web copy for my old boss, and that may turn out to be problematic. I'm not getting it done as quickly as I think he wanted it done, but I'm also not getting feedback from the development guy with whom I'm supposed to be working. Plus, the development guy is kind of not taking what I send him--he adds my stuff to the crap that he already has, which is not what I had in mind. I'm not sure how much to push back on that, and I haven't been able to talk to my old boss about it yet.

Bossman and I also did test runs yesterday and today on the mini croissants for BT's restaurant. (We also had an order for a bunch of minis for someone else, so we had plenty of opportunity to figure it out.) It's fun working on this shit with Bossman. He gets bored eventually and leaves it to me to finish it, but he's definitely involved in the working-it-out portion of the program--and, perhaps not so surprisingly, I think that's one of the things that gets Brad's shorts in a wad. BT and I had dinner last night, and she was talking about someone she knows who doesn't have any passion for food, and, oddly enough, I think Brad's the same. He's always on some diet (he wants to build muscle), so he rarely tastes anything at the bakery, and you just can't make good stuff if you don't taste it. You have to avoid chowing down on it, but you really must taste it.

Eh; I don't want to think about him right now. I want to grease up my hands (which are dry and sore) and watch the end of the Blackhawks/Redwings game (the Hawks just scored, so they're down 3-2), and watch "The Daily Show." I forgot to tell you all that I went to the Hawks game Sunday night, and liked it immensely; they have $10 tickets, so I think I must go back.

Watching the Wheels

This morning, Bossman gathers us around the worktable for a minute to inform us that Brad is leaving, and that we'll be fine, except we'll need someone for the Friday night bake for the summer farmers' markets, and he'll need some help downstairs with the computer stuff. I, of course, said I could help with the latter, and he said we'd talk later, so we talked about it this afternoon after everyone else had left. Yes, of course he'd been figuring I could do the invoices and such, and help with the ordering, and whatever. He said there'd be more money, but I don't know how much; I'll try to get a number from him tomorrow. So that's good news thing number one.

Second, while we were in the middle of the above-mentioned conversation, the pastry chef at Brazen's restaurant called--and they want our croissants. Lots of them. And mini-muffins, too. That's good news thing number two. Both of these things mean more work for me, but they also mean, in addition to more money (and more hours), that Bossman can further appreciate what I can do. Hell, he already appreciates it; that's not an issue. It's not that he couldn't have gotten the work at BT's restaurant without me, it's that he'd have a hard time doing it, or, rather, he'd have to do it all himself, and he doesn't want to do that. And I did bring in the other work this week, for that matter.

So after the worktable gathering, Johnnie says quietly to me, grinning, "Congratulations." And I say, "Why?" and he says that I'm going to be the next boss. He was sort of joking, but sort of not, and he seemed genuinely glad about it. Later he said it again, and I said, okay, but if I start acting like the professor (which is what they call Brad), he has to tell me. It was really kind of nice.

I'm excited--and I have some trepidation, too. Partly I'm wondering just how much more he'll pay me. If it isn't at least $2/hour more, it's a lot of hassle for not a lot more money. I'm going to keep doing the side work regardless--there's no way he's going to pay me enough so I wouldn't have to do any work on the side--but maybe I can be less anxious about getting enough of it. What I'm really hoping is that I can balance all of this, keep all these balls in the air, and come out ahead. Being able to actually save some money would be a Good Thing. I know I had given myself until January to start figuring things out, but it looks like things are sort of being decided for me.

That is, it looks like I might have the opportunity to spend the next year or so working like a dog, but maybe being able to save a little bit of money. I could do that, i think. Any number of things could fuck up, of course--my mother's waiting for a kidney transplant, for example, so there's that to worry about. But there's always something; that's life. And it's not like I'm going to be able to save a whole bunch--but, again, that's still better than not saving anything, or falling behind. And adding this experience to my repertoire? Also good, no matter whether I open my own business or keep working for other people. One of the things we're doing, for example, is switching ordering/invoicing systems. Brad's computer runs Windows 98, I believe (need I say more . . .). Bossman wants to switch the invoicing to Quickbooks, because all of his other stuff is in that. But no one's figured out how to do it, yet, and there will still be the transfer of all the info to accomplish. Which will presumably be done by me, which is fine.

What I will need to do is figure out how to take this all into account in my own accounting. I'm certainly not going to spend the side money willy-nilly (as in, "Oh look! I made $500 more than I needed to this month! Let's go spend it all!"), because I'm sure there will be dry months, too. On the other hand, if the work is steady, and I'm managing to save some each month, and I'm a few months ahead, even, then why not treat myself to something? Not wildly, just a little--a massage, perhaps; something like that--or a yoga class followed by a massage. I'll probably try to come up with the proper algorithm for assessing it. It's like my current budget: I budgeted for going out and playing each month. It's not a huge amount, but it's not nothing, either, and it's right there on the spreadsheet, along with what I'm actually spending. Similarly, I budgeted for miscellaneous crap--birthday presents; doctors' bills; the new glasses I'll need soon. If my budgeting is accurate, then I have a pretty good idea what I need to make outside the bakery. It seemed like a better idea to assume ahead of time that I need to make X dollars on top of the bakery, in order to live a reasonable life, rather than assume a bare-bones budget, knowing I'd want to have a beer or two once in awhile. Eh, I'm tired, and need some sleep.
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On a completely different note, the handball friend who died over Thanksgiving would have been 72 today. And it was 26 years ago today that John Lennon was murdered.

Sadness

First off, Brad MADE MY DOUGH FOR ME TODAY. Just up and offered to do it, as I finished up shaping the last of the croissants. I was quite thankful, as it got me out of work at least a half hour earlier than I otherwise would have left, and these 9.5-hour days are, indeed, tiring. No idea where that generosity came from, but I thanked him nevertheless, and more than once.

Second, the place where I go on Tuesdays? They're going to be getting three deliveries a week from us, starting on Monday. Woo-hoo! No word yet on Brazen Tart's hotel--they were going to check out the stuff Bossman dropped off and get back to us. He said today that the goal of today's exercise was to be asked back--i.e., not to have them call and place an order. He took an array of miniature croissants, all baked this morning; miniature pecan rolls; miniature gibassier; some muffins and Danish and the like; and some full-size croissants, I believe. There was supposed to be brioche as well, but when he mixed the dough yesterday, he left out the salt. Oops. Originally we were just going to send plain and chocolate croissants, but I decided at the last minute to make some almond, as well, seeing as how I had the dough, and they were lovely; I sent the extras to the Tart, who, I hope, feasted well upon them.

I'm tired today, because, in addition to all of the commotion getting the above samples ready, and in addition to having to gather another batch of stuff for Web Guy to photograph, it was Ham and Cheese Croissant Day, which is always a pain. I have to slice the ham and the cheese--approximately 330 slices of each today--and our slicer is not particularly cooperative. No matter--they got done.

I'm also dealing with sadness again today. I had several more paragraphs about that, but I think they don't belong here.

Pleasure

Ron's got me thinking again. She's right about the strangeness that often befalls the comments over at Twisty's place. I find Twisty's commentary to be interesting, and thought-provoking, and I often agree with a substantial percentage of what she says. Our tastes on some things may differ, and we could have an interesting discussion about how much taste is constructed by patriarchy (and, i would say, capitalism--I regard them as complementary but not identical by any means)--if patriarchal capitalism is really totalizing, then, I might argue, we shouldn't differ even as much as we do. We should be lined up for whatever product(s) and belief(s) we're fed. I'd argue that humans are messier than that, our desires are less easily codified, and neither patriarchy nor capitalism has managed to control all of either the horizontal or the vertical. Although I'm also not about to break into song celebrating the Unquenchable Human Spirit or anything (and, trust me, you do not want me to break into song about anything; a quiet hum, perhaps, that no one else can hear, but that's about it).

But what I really wanted to discuss was blojobs (yes, I'm misspelling it intentionally). Twisty commented some time ago--August, I think--that BJs were . . . not to her taste. She might have been more vehement than that (she might have called them disgusting, for example), but I do not remember her description and I'm too lazy to go find the post. Teh Internets blowed up. There were hundreds of comments, many of which detailed the commenter's preferences and practices (which, trust me, was often way too much information). Many women wrote in, in defense of the lowly (and, apparently, about to be outlawed AND discredited) BJ. (Personally, I didn't realize they were so endangered as to require such defense, but what do I know.) This, in turn, invited others to point out that these defenses of BJs were yet another aspect of the patriarchy that the defenders had, uh, swallowed, i.e., that women who claim to like giving BJs suffer from false consciousness (because no woman could possibly like giving them), or that women who claim to like giving them merely say that for the same reasons that women claim to like wearing spike heels and ripping their pubic hair out by the roots and so on, i.e., the patriarchy has trained them successfully.

I felt like I'd stumbled down a rabbit hole, if you want to know.

I finally figured out (I think) that many young (by which I mean "10+ years younger than I am") women have, indeed, swallowed the patriarchy-and-pron(again intentional)-influenced prescriptions regarding applying their mouths to male genitalia. Apparently (so far as I can tell), BJs are featured prominently in pron, and given the much wider availability of such visual fare these days, many young men want what they see, and many young women feel that they should provide it, no matter what their own preferences happen to be. That is, many men want sexbots, and many women believe they should be sexbots. (Yes, I know, YOU don't feel that way; me neither. It's only benighted Others who ever feel any pressure to be attractive.) Thus, an activity that, for some of us, might well arise as part of the generally pleasurable touching and such, has been reappropriated by the patriarchy in such a way that, for a whole lot of young men and women, it has a whole other set of meanings involving dominance and so on.

It was always thus, of course--that's how a patriarchy works; the only thing that changes is the definition of sexbot and the comparative ability of women to resist or defy sexbotification. Until the 1970s, for example, women could not get credit cards in their own names. Many single women had trouble getting mortgages. While women continue to be underpaid for the work they do, it was way worse back then, when it was difficult for a woman to support herself alone. You can't be independent if you can't buy your own food. On the other hand, after a brief period of feminist free-for-all and free love (back to that in a second, too), patriarchy reasserted itself. That's why so many women engage in feminism-bashing, and why so many women adopt the gear of the patriarchy and defend it as their "taste" or their "preference." Like Twisty, I'm somewhat loathe to blame women for what is essentially a survival strategy, but it also saddens me to watch young women twist themselves into knots and strap themselves into sports corsets all while insisting what they're doing is (to borrow a Twistyism) empowerful.

And sometimes I think I've had a glimpse of a better way.

For a brief period of time, there was a moment of freedom: between the old patriarchal "Leave it to Beaver" vacuuming in pearls standard and the new patriarchal "pearl necklace" standard, before herpes and HIV (but, alas, not before HPV) and after contraception became legal and available. Yes, dearies, contraception was illegal in many places, until 1965, when the Supreme Court said, in Griswold v. Connecticut, that there was a right to privacy that covered such things--this is controversial because that right (a) is not specifically mentioned in the Constitution, as such, and (b) is part of the eventual justification for Roe v. Wade. It's also why, if you read the writings of the people who want to control your uterus, you've started seeing mention of Griswold. The godbag wingnuts want to eliminate access to contraception completely, which is tucked in among the reasons why they attack Planned Parenthood so vehemently. They're not just opposed to abortion, they're also opposed to contraception, and, essentially, to women having any control over their own bodies.

But I digress.

Part of "women's lib" (and, yes, I'm old enough to have been asked if I was a "women's libber") was sexual liberation--"Our Bodies, Ourselves" came out of that impulse, I'd argue, insofar as it was a move for women to reclaim their bodies from the medical (and mostly male) establishment. Sexual pleasure was a part of that, and it was about sexual pleasure for its own sake, and sexual pleasure that wasn't about pleasing men. Was it always successful? Of course not. But there are a bunch of us--women AND men, I'd say--who discovered, for the umpteenth time, that rubbing up against each other can provide all kinds of great fun (and that one didn't have to be In Love to do that, but that's a different part of the argument, into which i won't go today, even though it's not unrelated). The whole BJ dustup was puzzling to me, until I began to suspect that for many younger women, the patriarchy has (not surprisingly) coopted women's rediscovery of sexual pleasure and once again turned it into a tool for pleasing men. Somehow, I mostly missed that boat, however.

And I think the patriarchal structure (insofar as a structure can be said to have wants or desires) wants to squash the impulse toward uninhibited sexual pleasure. Not just to oppress women for the hell of it, and not just because women can have multiple orgasms, but because sexual pleasure, especially of the ecstatic kind, is wild and a little uncontrollable and powerful--for men AND women. And we wouldn't want people, especially female people, feeling powerful, now, would we--much better that they wear a sports corset and feel empowerful instead. Much better that women's sexual experience serve the patriarchy. And much better that men be worried about maintaining their dominance than giving themselves up to ecstasy (and, trust me, the patriarchy doesn't want individual men to be powerful in any way that does not serve the patriarchy).

But sometimes I like to think that there's this little group of renegades out here, men and women both, who have taken a walk on that ecstatic side (and I'm not saying that that's not possible within a Relationship, though I would say that some aspects of marriage, etc., definitely serve the patriarchy). Neither the men nor the women want to be told that that pleasure is bad or wrong--we know otherwise. I'd also add that we know that that pleasure isn't about power, or about dominance--it's contrary to those things, IMHO. Is it possible to experience sex outside the confines of the dominance that defines the patriarchy? Yeah, sometimes, for a little while, anyway--as long as the scripts didn't come from patriarchally produced pron, but instead came from more primal or immediate experience of touching.

And that might be where I begin to diverge from Twisty, just a little. Yes, I know we experience everything within the confines of some structure or another--there's no language outside language, either--which means we experience that touching within a structure, too. But when the earth moves, all bets are off, at least for a flash of time.

Unthoughtfullyness

No, this is still not the thoughtful post.

The brioche were wonderful (how can all that butter and eggs, held together by a whisper of flour and sugar, be anything but wonderful?), and I snagged a sextet to bring home and freeze (well, I'm only freezing a quartet). I made four big brioche to sell in the store, and they came out quite well--the little heads didn't topple over or anything. Bossman is going to bake the smaller croissants tomorrow and let me know how they turn out. So we'll do it all again Tuesday/Wednesday, and we'll see how it goes. I had enough bread products today--not to mention butter and associated fats--to sink a ship. Oh--wait--oil floats: okay, then, to float a ship. Dinner tonight is going to consist of the last couple of glasses of wine in the bottle--AFTER I do the copyediting.

I made lasagna today for the crew, and showed how you can do it without boiling a single noodle (a trick I learned from Moosewood). Phil wants the recipe, which is pretty entertaining, seeing as how I didn't make a single bit of it from scratch (if I were making it at home I'd probably make the sauce myself, and use fresh spinach; I might even make a pumpkin bechamel instead of a red sauce, and/or use spinach noodles). The whole thing took 15 minutes to assemble (because I didn't make the sauce) and about an hour to bake. Chuck used to make it, too, using his red sauce (a Moosewood recipe that he perfected) and/or some chorizo; when we were on an austerity budget last year, he'd make a pan and cut it up to freeze for his lunches. All in all, I'd say it was a success.

I'm tired tonight; it's been a long week. And I'm not sleeping all that much--six hours a night is pretty much my limit these days, and it's usually closer to five hours. I don't think I've been asleep when the alarm went off (5:02 am) even once this week. I wake up around 4, sometimes earlier; when I'm lucky I fall back to sleep, but other times I just drowse for awhile and then finally get up at quarter before 5 or so. I suspect more exercise would improve my sleep, but I don't see that happening soon. I'm also not getting enough sunlight: the sun is barely beginning to make the sky light when I get to the bakery, and it's already set by the time I leave. I used to go out at lunchtime and call a friend or wander around, and I still do that occasionally, but it's too cold to sit outside, and mostly I've been going down to the basement (LOTS of light down there) to sit and read for 15 minutes. I saw full sun today for the first time since Monday, I believe. I think I need to reinstate the going outside at lunch thing. I'm only mildly susceptible to depression from lack of light, but this has been such a shitty year, and my body is already going nuts, so I think some light, even if only 15 minutes a day, is probably a good idea.

Okay, I want wine, and I've committed to doing some work first, so you're going to have to be satisfied with this lame excuse for a post. Thoughtful can wait for another day.

More Worrying

because we know how worrying actually solves problems.

I have a longish, Thoughtful post, waiting for me to finish it, but I'm freaking out at the moment. This afternoon Chuck said that (a) we cannot be reinstated on the COBRA, so he really screwed the pooch on that one, (b) he really doesn't want to put me on his health insurance come January, even if I haven't solved the problem for myself before then, and (c) would I like to join him for a cheap dinner tonight. I declined (c), on the grounds that I needed to do some copyediting, plus I have to get up early tomorrow--and both of those things are true--but I'd take a rain check, to which he muttered that it was the second one. Apparently it hasn't crossed his mind that his negligence has pissed me off royally, and frightened me--terrified me!--and that I am going to remain terrified until such time as i get at least some kind of insurance. I did not want to go into that with him. I also did not want to inquire why, now that I've told him, in some detail, that and why I want a divorce, he's decided he can be friendly after all. For months now he has vacillated between being pleasant, possibly even friendly, and being nasty and sullen. Often, we have a perfectly pleasant interaction--and it's followed by a blob of venom, presumably because the PPI reminds him of how we're not together and why and why won't I give him another chance and whateverthefuck.

I also found out this afternoon that I can't get insurance through the bakery. The current plan, then, is to talk to Bossman's insurance person on Monday and see if she can get me some kind of immediate, temporary coverage, and then go back and appeal the refusal from October, all of which will eat up my Mondays as I track down medical records, and find a fax number I can use, and so on. Of course, I also have some major writing to do, and Monday is one of the days on which I can do it. Hah! Not THIS week, either! Sunday I'm going to have to chain myself to the computer and get some things done, seeing as how I've promised drafts of stuff to people on Monday. The copyediting is less problematic, time-wise--I might even be able to finish it tomorrow night.

I was also sad, today. On some level, I miss Chuck. There were some nice parts to our relationship (else it would not have lasted for nearly eight years)--quite a few, actually. Today's interaction merely brings home to me that I've made the right decision, that I really cannot trust him at this point (and might never be able to do so), and, as I wrote to him, I cannot be happy with someone I do not trust. I think I miss the relationship I thought we had--a partnership based on honesty, trust, affection, etc.--and some of the companionship that was a part of that, even as I recognize that it wasn't a partnership, after all. Whatever; I don't feel like thinking about that. I know that I can want to end the relationship and still be sad about the ending.

Meanwhile, tomorrow Bossman and I are whipping up some of the things he's going to take with him on Wednesday--to Brazen Tart's hotel AND to the bar to which I go on Tuesday nights. Plain and chocolate croissants, for sure, plus some raisin ones, and some pecan rolls, and some small brioche. I made very small batches of croissant dough and brioche dough, so tomorrow I can have at it. It's all practice, mind you; I'll do it all again on Tuesday, except we'll presumably know what sizes to make and so on. Oh--and we're assembling stuff for the web guy to photograph tomorrow, too, because we always have to have multiple things in the works.

Auditions

Oh, there are so many things I Ought to be doing (copyediting; yoga; writing), and I do not care.

I've been working my ass off at the bakery this week--10 hours Tuesday, and 9+ hours yesterday and today. One of the things that's interesting to me is how much more I know than I did when i started. Because I take care of the laminated doughs (and the funeral cakes--which we now also make as muffins, and they sell like hotcakes), and because we're still making a bunch of them (and more on that in a minute), my time for other things is still somewhat limited. I cranked out a batch of funeral muffins today (along with a half-dozen cakes; we're selling more of the muffins), along with the usual 500 croissants and the dough for tomorrow's croissants. But I still have a few minutes here and there, and it's much easier for me to find something to do than it was then (today I filled muffin tins with paper muffin cups, because Artie was going to be making a lot of muffins once I finished my batch; other times I'll give Phil a hand rounding dough or making rolls or whatever). It's nice to feel useful.

Okay, first I have to bitch (again?!) for a minute, then to the good stuff. Can i just say that I cannot wait for menopause? I used to have periods that were like clockwork. They changed a little over the years (the cycle shortened by a couple of days over the past 35 years), and the fibroids made things interesting for awhile (if you're averse to lots of blood and pain, then fibroids aren't for you), but the embolization from three years ago helped with the fibroids quite a bit. This year, though, has been nuts. Every time I turn around I'm bleeding again, and I think the fibroids have been growing again. This can probably all be explained by impending menopause: I'm probably not ovulating regularly, and my hormones are probably fluctuating somewhat, which means the periods would become irregular, and there's often an estrogen surge as menopause approaches, which would feed the fibroids. Yeah, fine, I have reasonable explanations for it all, but I haven't had three regular cycles in a row since the beginning of the year, and it's annoying the shit out of me. I was never one for regarding my period as Wonderful Moon Days that Confirm My Womanhood or some such shit, and I was also not one for getting wrapped up in misery, either; it seemed like a simple fact of life--inconvenient sometimes, but not that big a deal. Lately, though, it's just been even more of a pain--the not knowing when it's going to show up, plus the random spotting, are tedious. If I had the money, I'd go see my acupuncturist, but I'm not nearly bothered enough to shell out a grand for it. If I had my old salary I probably would, but I'm working way too hard for it these days. (That's not a complaint, incidentally, merely an observation about how one's calculus changes according to one's situation.) The other thing that makes it a little difficult is that I don't have many people I can discuss it with--you know, who can tell me what they went through, so I can figure out what's "normal." I mostly hang out around men, and several of the women I know are way too young for menopause. Jane is pretty much it, among the people I see regularly, and she already has to hear me bitch about every other damned thing (you people have it easy compared to her).

The good stuff is pretty cool, actually. Another guy who has a small shop wanders into our bakery on occasion; he's competing for the national team that Bossman was on. Another Guy is annoying as all hell; he NEVER SHUTS UP. He apparently sent samples of his croissants to Brazen Tart's hotel, and she tells me they weren't good, but AG doesn't know we know any of that. So today AG shows up--and while he's there, the guy at Brazen Tart's hotel calls and wants to know when we're sending our samples! Bossman explained (out of AG's hearing) that we had some crappy flour this week and we're bringing stuff next Wednesday (actually, Bossman is bringing it). So Bossman and I spent some time today discussing what to make, and we'll do more of that tomorrow, and we're making a practice batch of everything on Saturday. Also on Saturday, our web guy is coming by to pick up more stuff to photograph for our website, which means I need to get cracking on that writing, too. Nothing like making yourself even more useful to the boss.

One of the things I like about the whole thing--and will like even more if it's successful--is that Bossman is clearly interested in my opinion on these things. Of course, I always throw in my two cents (the people who know me well snorted when they read that), but it's sure nice to be working with someone who wants to hear it.

Meanwhile, Brad has his shorts in a bunch about something--he's been crabby the last two days. And you know what? He has to get over it. I wouldn't be surprised if the stuff I'm doing with Bossman is part of it, but I really don't care.

Today Artie and I had a brief interchange about something, and he told me he likes it when I smile because I remind him of someone in his life, that it brings a good memory for him. As you might imagine, I completely hate it when men tell me to smile, but this was so not that kind of comment. The crew is getting lasagna this week, rather than pizza . . .

More Rambling

Bad news: On my way into my building tonight, I managed to catch my headphones in the door, neatly separating the part that goes on your ears from the part that plugs into an iPod or radio or whatever. I have another set of headphones (though they're starting to die, too; they require constant fiddling with/holding one of the earpieces), but I'm pretty sure I gave my iPod-supplied ear buds to Chuck, because I've never had a set of in-ear listening devices that worked for me. Mutant ear canals, I guess. This gets slightly more complicated, in that my iPod is starting to go, too; the battery won't hold a charge. I don't think I want to buy a new one, to the tune of $249 plus tax, even though I'd get new earphones AND a new remote; they'll "refurbish" one (i.e., send me a refurbished one and keep mine) for about $70, I think, plus headphones and a remote, and we're talking about another $65, maybe. So, $135 versus $275 is a pretty easy calculation, unless I wanted to spend an extra $140 for the most up-to-date iPod, versus the several-years-old model I own (and love, mind you; it doesn't have pictures or movies or anything like that, but it plays music, which is what I want it to do). I think I'm going to use the failing headphones for awhile and ponder this.

But the good news: I bought a new, $75 30-day transit pass last week in anticipation of needing it today, but I could not find it in my wallet this morning. I had to get out of here, so I paid the fare with a cash transit card, then bought a 7-day pass, figuring either I'd find the 30-day pass at home, in which case I'm out a couple of bucks extra for getting that pass, or I wouldn't find it, in which case I'd have six more days to use this one and get a replacement or get the automatic-loading transit card, which I've been resisting for years (because I don't like the trackability of it) but which will be replaced if you lose it or it's stolen. But I found the 30-day pass when I got home, so I can defer that decision a little longer.

I still don't have health insurance. Bossman is trying to solve that for me, or, rather, his wife tried but has not yet been successful; he was going to call the agent and try to figure out what was going on. I try not to get too anxious about it, but it's completely anxiety-provoking. I think we need to put that in the "bad news but . . ." column.

In the "might be good news column," the bar to which I go every Tuesday night is also open for breakfast--they have pastries and coffee and free wi-fi, but I don't know how much business they do. Last night I asked the bartenders who did their breakfast stuff, and it turns out they're looking for some new stuff. Turns out we do all kinds of breakfast stuff and we already deliver to a place not all that far from the bar. And it turns out the fancy downtown hotel (where the Brazen Tart works) that has been getting their dinner rolls from us for a little while now might maybe could use some help with their breakfast pastries. I don't think they've mentioned anything to Bossman, but hey, a little box of samples might not be a bad idea. And the more of this stuff I do, the more valuable I become.

We're not going to do any samples until we get new flour, however. We couldn't get our regular flour for some reason, so this week we've been using some bleached, bromated shit that has neither elasticity nor extensibility. Yesterday's dough was an interesting exercise, too: Brad mixed it for me Monday afternoon. All day yesterday I was picking shreds of paper towel out of it; a piece must have gotten into the flour or the mixer or something, and it was well-distributed through the dough. What a pain in the ass--probably added an hour and a half to my day yesterday. Today was long, too, not least because Brad asked me to do some sweet trays (which, okay, no problem, even though they wanted the Good Stuff) but then also told me to help Phil with some dinner rolls, which took probably 45 minutes. I don't mind helping Phil, in practice or in principle--when I'm not trying to get my own damned work done. Brad offered to stay and help me with my croissants later in the afternoon, but I sent him on his way; he was getting on my last nerve today, and I just wanted to do them properly and get out of there. (Despite my multiple requests that he place a newly shaped croissant directly onto a sheet pan--because you're supposed to minimize the number of times you handle them--he insists on rolling them all and then putting them on pans, meaning you touch each piece an extra time.)

Even when I get health insurance, Bossman said it's pretty basic coverage, which means I'm going to be spending some money for health care. I haven't been to the dentist in about two years, and I can tell I need new glasses/contacts, so I got me some health care expenses coming up, no matter what.

The Next Day

My Monday chores include, in addition to whatever housecleaning I can motivate myself to do, making vats of tea. Thanks to Chuck, I have four 1000-ml bottles and one 500-ml bottle, made of some hard plastic (they're designed for use in a lab, so they're pretty sturdy). I generally drink about 1500 ml of tea a day, so I fill the four big bottles on Monday, and then fill the 500-ml bottle each day. I prefer Assam black, made by Honest Tea, changed up occasionally with some Jiangxi China Green or some Kashmiri Chai. I didn't like the latter as much as I thought I would, but I'm working my through the batch I bought; I go through at least 15 bags of the Assam each week (I put two bags in the 1000-ml bottles). I've never really liked Earl Grey or mint, and I didn't like the Honeybush at all when I tried it. I do like the Chamolime, and it turns out that it is an incredible sleep aid for several people I know, including Chuck (really: they drink a cup and crash), but I don't go through much of it. I have to order the tea online, because I've never been able to find their tea bags--only their bottled tea--in stores. Anyway, I shlep a big bottle and the small bottle to work every day, refilling the latter from the former and keeping the former in the walk-in. It's handy, because I like tea (obviously), and the bottles don't spill when they get knocked over, unlike, say, styrofoam coffee cups.

I'm finding that, now that I've said my piece to Chuck, I'm mostly sad. For me, for him. Neither of us wanted to get to this point, and, you know, despite everything, he's not a bad person, and all of the good things about him are still there, and some of them are better than when we met. He got in the habit of lying, in part because he doesn't believe anyone will love him the way he is, in part because he's smart, and he found it easier to lie (to most people) than to tell the truth. Between his disorder and his addiction (and they often go hand in hand), it's a testament to him that he's not in even worse shape than he's in.

I think he's capable of making (and really wants to make) the changes he needs to make, and he certainly knows he's got to do it for him, not for anyone else. And, as I said to him, if he gets it together, he deserves to be with someone who can trust and love him in a way that I simply cannot at this point. I would like to be able to be friends with him--though I think he really doesn't want that, and I'm not going to push it. I can still work up some anger and fear over the tens of thousands of dollars this relationship has cost me, but I also know that, if he does make those changes, he's going to want to make amends to me, too. And if not, well, there's nothing I can do about it. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it sometimes, because I've done this before, i.e., found myself in a financial hole and had to dig my way out of it. Jane and I have talked about this a lot; she saw me dig myself out of the last one, too. As I said, I can work up a good fury about it, but other times, I'm more "whatever" about it. Sitting around whining about it isn't going to help one little bit, so I can only do that for so long. Similarly, castigating Chuck or myself for the situation isn't going to put food on the table or pay the rent.

I'm determined to get out of the house today. I'll do some more copyediting, seeing as how the next batch just showed up in my inbox, but I have to get out. And probably taking a shower first would be good.

And . . .

I just found out that a handball friend died this weekend, while visiting his daughter and son-in-law. He was one of the people who got me into handball. I had my graduation party at the wonderful old victorian house he and his wife used to own. He was generous, and kind, and funny, and I loved him.

Clarity

and sadness.

Wednesday night I had a long talk with Peter, a friend who knows quite a bit about about addiction and recovery (and mental illness, for that matter). I told him that Chuck's latest move--as of Wednesday, again--is to say that seeing me makes him too angry and upset, and therefore I can't see his son any more. I told Peter about the health insurance fiasco (still unsolved), as well. Peter pointed out that Chuck has had every opportunity to do the right things, to make amends, to show himself to be honest and trustworthy, to be fiscally responsible and transparent. He has done the exact opposite, on every count, Peter pointed out. And that clarified things for me. On some level, Chuck desperately doesn't want any of that to be true, and he especially doesn't want it to be true that our marriage is over, and he extra-especially doesn't want it to be true that his actions have been the biggest contributor to that. I think, on some level, he's even desperately sorry for what he's done, even if he can't quite get his brain around what it would take to make amends for that. But he's been telling me that he doesn't want to be my friend, that he doesn't want to see me or talk to me any more than necessary, and that our relationship is "dead." Apparently, from that I'm supposed to see that he really means, "I want to reconcile with you."

Frankly, I'm not seeing it. What I am seeing is someone who has fucked things up. What I'm also seeing is someone who doesn't want to (and maybe right now is not able to) deal with the enormity of what he's done. And what I'm seeing is someone who maybe didn't find me as compatible as he wanted to, but who couldn't envision life without the structure and stability and cash I provided. I don't think Chuck wants to reconcile, though I think he would be happy if we were magically reconcileD. For awhile, anyway.

So there's been a lot of bile and vitriol this past week or two. He made it a point to scan, and send me the photo of, the handwritten version of the words that his son spoke at our wedding, and he informed me that finding that scrap made him sob for two hours. But my tears at "Elf"? His comment was "Boo-fucking-hoo."

I've spent the last two days writing him a long response to his latest version of the "is this really it?" question, and it's not been fun. I finally sent it off this afternoon, and my stomach is still knotted. I didn't want to get to this point, but I realized, as I've worked away at the bakery for the past two days, that, bottom line, I don't trust him. It's possible that he may become trustworthy at some point, but, given what's happened between us, I will never trust him, and, if he does become trustworthy, then he should be with someone who can trust him. And with someone who can love him, and that's not me any more, either. And I can't begin to tell you how sad that makes me, and how much I feel like I've failed--failed him, failed me, just failed. And I'm sure he feels the same way.

I'm sure you can see why I decided writing this at the old place was probably not a good idea.

Thanks

As you guys know, it's been a difficult year, and there's every reason to believe that it's going to get more difficult. Nevertheless, when I'm not freaking out about not having health insurance OF ANY KIND right now, and when I'm not consumed with anger, and when I'm not overwhelmed in one way or another, I actually feel quite grateful.

I'm grateful that I have skills with which I can support myself, and I'm grateful that so many people (like Bossman, and like a certain publishing company employee I know) have been willing to take a chance on me.

I'm grateful for the unbelievable array of friends I have. It was wonderful (and, in retrospect, heartbreaking) to have so many of them gathered around us for our wedding last year, and it has been even more wonderful to have so many people supporting me through the hell that chunks of this last year have been. Jane (also known as J in the previous blog; I'm going to continue with anonymity, so that's not her name), in particular, has made life bearable. I do not know what I would have done without her.

I'm grateful for my family, especially my brother. Even though my mother is, and always has been, difficult, she and my father have done the very best they could for me, for my brother, and for my sister. Do you like what you see or read here? Thank my parents, because they provided the foundation.

I'm grateful for my yoga practice, even though I haven't practiced much lately. Thanks to my yoga teachers, and to the wisdom of yoga, I have a resource that is literally embodied for me.

I'm grateful for my senses, for the smells and tastes and sounds and sights, for the pictures and words.

I'm grateful to my teachers, and to the people who continue to teach me, generously sharing of themselves. They reinforce the notion that you have to teach it to pass it along, and they inspire me.

Meanwhile, I've got pie dough in the fridge; if you're a baker, you're always bringing dessert (I've been invited to a dinner at Ann's house, along with Jane and another friend of Jane's). I'd thought of taking the pumpkin flan I've made in previous years and putting it on top of some gingerbread, blah blah blah, but it turn's out that Ann wants pie--apple pie, in particular. Now, Ann is a gourmet cook, and I suspected (and Jane confirmed last night) that Ann has been planning for weeks, going through various gourmet food magazines, composing an elaborate menu. So, the way I see it, she wants pie, she gets pie, and I'm happy to provide it.

I also have football on the television--because my high school and the rival high school across the river are playing on Thanksgiving Day for the 100th time, so it's on ESPN2. (Yes, I went to that game when I was in high school.) The head coach for my high school was the other 6th grade teacher when I was in 6th grade. One of the people they interviewed was my high school algebra teacher (and, after I'd left, the head coach). The quarterback for my high school is, I suspect, a relative (son? nephew?) of someone with whom I went to grade school and high school. In a little blow for changing times, they showed the family of one of the kids they just profiled (from the rival school) . . . and the kid's parents are of different races, which, when I was a kid, not so much. Unfortunately, my team is getting shellacked at the moment, despite their unbeaten record. I'll see what they show at halftime--if they profile the towns, which they're likely to do, I'll see my past parade before my eyes on my tv.

I have no idea what's going to happen with the health insurance. Chuck was sullen last night, for the 30 seconds I talked to him. I merely asked if he'd heard back from the company, but he hadn't. He's really screwed--he's got somewhere around a thousand dollars a month of medical expenses, what with his disorder and so on, and he's already living on the edge of financial ruin. So I didn't yell, scream, fulminate, or anything else--I merely asked him to let me know what I needed to do to facilitate reinstatement, then called back the friend to whom I'd been talking. (I'll tell you about that conversation later.)

And you guys? I'm grateful for you, too. Your presence has made this year much more bearable, and your online and offline support has meant a great deal to me. Thanks, friends.

Welcome

Greetings, all. No idea whether or how this will differ from the other place, but I've been feeling lots of pressure--basically, I know that mention of any of a number of topics, events, feelings, etc., will unleash a torrent of nastiness in my direction, and I'm tired of that. I also didn't want to stop writing, though, and I didn't want to stop writing for you guys.

Tonight's news? "Chuck" didn't get the health insurance payment in on time (a day late), and they've cancelled the cobra coverage. He's trying to get them to reinstate--and he'd better succeed, because he has nearly a grand of expenses in the past month--but no news on whether it'll work. Meanwhile, I'm going to try to get some through the bakery, because this is nuts.