Wake up fails.
anxious. missing. restless.
yet again.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
like a handball
fail. didn't get up at 6.... got up at 7 today, though! going to try for that again tomorrow, too. felt good not to be in a rush in the am.
sleepy tired now.
i feel like making something. don't know what yet . . . . some decoration for my clean pristine walls!
sleepy tired now.
i feel like making something. don't know what yet . . . . some decoration for my clean pristine walls!
Monday, July 18, 2011
what is in a month?
summer months keep flying by. just like the spring ones did, the winter ones kind of overstayed their welcome, but the fall months flew by, too. Half the times I look at a calendar i think, "It's the beginning/middle/end of WHAT month?" out of astonishment that days, weeks, nights and months go by without me really realizing it. Without me taking advantage of this beautiful thing called time. It's hard to think that I'm going to be 23 years old this year.
23 years old and I still can't wake up in the morning.
I just watched this great TED video about trying something new for 30 days and it inspired me to wake up at 6 am for 30 days. So tomorrow is day 1: tuesday July 19. 6am. I'm not going to sleep in, I'm not going to miss my alarm, I'm going to bed in 30 minutes!
6.5 hours of sleep here I come!
23 years old and I still can't wake up in the morning.
I just watched this great TED video about trying something new for 30 days and it inspired me to wake up at 6 am for 30 days. So tomorrow is day 1: tuesday July 19. 6am. I'm not going to sleep in, I'm not going to miss my alarm, I'm going to bed in 30 minutes!
6.5 hours of sleep here I come!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Thoughts after Zooming along the Inside Passage
Alaska. Back to NY. Robert visiting. Back to work. Friends over. UCB x2. Harry Potter midnight premiere. Harry Potter musical. Dinner out. Feel like I haven't stopped moving since stepping on the cruise ship. And now that I've got a day to do nothing I find Belle syndrome kicking in.
Met so many people in Alaska, saw so many different kinds of life. In between our various activities I'd look out the windows of the ship as we flew past mountain after mountain and wonder about picking up everything for a few years and either traveling or going into something like the peace corp. What if I was in a place that smelled like fresh air all the time and not just every time you passed a park (and even then you get wiffs of garbage and dog shit).
Something my roommate said a long time ago is finally getting to me: "You have to ask yourself, what did I do for my career today?"
So today I watched the pilot of The league. And I'm writing here. It's been a long time since I wrote something in this - almost a year. I don't want another year to pass by without eRecording what it's meant.
Been thinking a lot, too, about my generation, my time, my era and my place in it. About what it means and how I can bring meaning to it. This is a start, I think, to finding the balance we're looking for. And something that can't be written off.
*sidenote: my air conditioner just kicked up and it sounds like a garbage disposal. I wish it worked like my grandparent's TV - where when it started to get too staticy and loud we just gave it a nice slap in the "sweet spot" on the right side and it would be normal again for ten minutes.*
Met so many people in Alaska, saw so many different kinds of life. In between our various activities I'd look out the windows of the ship as we flew past mountain after mountain and wonder about picking up everything for a few years and either traveling or going into something like the peace corp. What if I was in a place that smelled like fresh air all the time and not just every time you passed a park (and even then you get wiffs of garbage and dog shit).
Something my roommate said a long time ago is finally getting to me: "You have to ask yourself, what did I do for my career today?"
So today I watched the pilot of The league. And I'm writing here. It's been a long time since I wrote something in this - almost a year. I don't want another year to pass by without eRecording what it's meant.
Been thinking a lot, too, about my generation, my time, my era and my place in it. About what it means and how I can bring meaning to it. This is a start, I think, to finding the balance we're looking for. And something that can't be written off.
*sidenote: my air conditioner just kicked up and it sounds like a garbage disposal. I wish it worked like my grandparent's TV - where when it started to get too staticy and loud we just gave it a nice slap in the "sweet spot" on the right side and it would be normal again for ten minutes.*
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The Apartments of Our Lives
This is a saga about finding and living in an apartment in New York. I guess you get what you craigslist for and I craigslisted a cheap apartment downtown. Now I had to be out of my place August 1st and started looking for places the month before.
I thought I had found the perfect place: East Village, under $800 a month in rent, and I could walk to work!
This was great, I had two meetings with various roommates and was all set to move in! I wrote back and forth with the one of them about costs and deposits. She said I should pay my deposit to the outgoing roommate (a common apartment practice) and 1st month's rent to the landlord. I wrote a check to the roommate, typed up my receipt - using as much legal jargon as I could - and was all set to go. Dropped the check off with the girl and waited to hear back from her.
I did hear back. She said the outgoing roommate wouldn't take a check. He would only take cash. That was a huge red flag for me and I said I wouldn't give him any money without a papertrail. I wanted evidence of this transaction.
So I had a bank check made in the sum of the deposit - and both sides would be happy with that. The day I was scheduled to move in I got a message from the girl roommate saying the outgoing roommate's last rent check had bounced and I shouldn't give him any money until they figured everything out.
Fine, but I had to move in! I loaded up all my stuff in a taxi (and I don't have a lot of stuff) and headed to the new place. As soon as I got there the old roommate was standing in the doorway. No hi, hello, how are you and certainly not a welcome - the guy said "Are you Caroline?" and I cringed. He continued,"Do you have the money, I'll let you inside if you have the money?"
So after an hour of weird threats and solutions that didn't make sense this guy disappeared, I cleaned my room, moved in and swept the hallway.
I really like the place! It's going to be such a great apartment, I can tell already...but until things are settled I know I'm going to be unsettled.
Cleaned half the kitchen last night! Am maybe going grocery shopping tonight - pasta, garlic, butter, cheese - what more does a girl need?
Can't wait . . .
Strange days are ahead.
I thought I had found the perfect place: East Village, under $800 a month in rent, and I could walk to work!
This was great, I had two meetings with various roommates and was all set to move in! I wrote back and forth with the one of them about costs and deposits. She said I should pay my deposit to the outgoing roommate (a common apartment practice) and 1st month's rent to the landlord. I wrote a check to the roommate, typed up my receipt - using as much legal jargon as I could - and was all set to go. Dropped the check off with the girl and waited to hear back from her.
I did hear back. She said the outgoing roommate wouldn't take a check. He would only take cash. That was a huge red flag for me and I said I wouldn't give him any money without a papertrail. I wanted evidence of this transaction.
So I had a bank check made in the sum of the deposit - and both sides would be happy with that. The day I was scheduled to move in I got a message from the girl roommate saying the outgoing roommate's last rent check had bounced and I shouldn't give him any money until they figured everything out.
Fine, but I had to move in! I loaded up all my stuff in a taxi (and I don't have a lot of stuff) and headed to the new place. As soon as I got there the old roommate was standing in the doorway. No hi, hello, how are you and certainly not a welcome - the guy said "Are you Caroline?" and I cringed. He continued,"Do you have the money, I'll let you inside if you have the money?"
So after an hour of weird threats and solutions that didn't make sense this guy disappeared, I cleaned my room, moved in and swept the hallway.
I really like the place! It's going to be such a great apartment, I can tell already...but until things are settled I know I'm going to be unsettled.
Cleaned half the kitchen last night! Am maybe going grocery shopping tonight - pasta, garlic, butter, cheese - what more does a girl need?
Can't wait . . .
Strange days are ahead.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
dance party!
this afternoon, sitting at my desk i heard the jingle jangle of bells approach and thought it was an avid indian music lover cruising broadway in their car.
But oh how wrong I was.
after the music didn't subside for about 20 seconds I jumped to the window and threw up the sash. (aforementioned sash was down because constant sun streaming through our giant windows make it kind of toasty in the office in the afternoon)
a small procession accompanied the lively music of drums and tamborine. about 7 or 8 men dressed in white, orange or yellow in two lines walking north on the sidewalk opposite my building. they stopped outside the guess and a couple bystanders participated in a brief dance circle.
and it was nice to see other people (even harry krishnas) just plain excited to be in the city
But oh how wrong I was.
after the music didn't subside for about 20 seconds I jumped to the window and threw up the sash. (aforementioned sash was down because constant sun streaming through our giant windows make it kind of toasty in the office in the afternoon)
a small procession accompanied the lively music of drums and tamborine. about 7 or 8 men dressed in white, orange or yellow in two lines walking north on the sidewalk opposite my building. they stopped outside the guess and a couple bystanders participated in a brief dance circle.
and it was nice to see other people (even harry krishnas) just plain excited to be in the city
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Squeegee
Found out June 30th that I would have Friday and Monday off and thus have a 4 day weekend (that I kept accidentally calling a 5 day weekend -worrying my employers that I would take an extra day off). So, after hearing from my dad that they would probably not be able to have vacation in Jersey this year I decided to explore the options of going home that weekend. Two days later I was on a plane home!
Twas a grand, great, magical, stupendous weekend.
And I'm very glad I went.
On the return journey I was waiting for my shuttle to arrive at LGA when a janitor came over and started to move a bench that was against a window. I thought he was about to mop because from his cart he took out a long thin mop but the handle was too short. He took this cleaning wand and began swishing and wiping it across the window. The suds formed great big infinity signs as he made practiced figure-eights with his wrist. Carefully stepping to his right he made sure the expanse of the six-foot long window was covered in bright sparkling soap. He took a step back inspecting his work and satisfied, he moved on to changing instruments to a great big squeegee the size of my leg. Pulling the blade down the glass carefully he made sure not to miss an inch of glass.
Once he was done he returned to his cart and began to move on. Something stopped him, though, as he was about to move on. A smudge, only detectable to the eyes of someone who looks at the glass and not through it, was making a stand against cleanliness and refused to move its oily imprint from the window. The janitor took out his big guns, paper towels and generic windex, and gave the smudge a once-over. When nothing happened, instead of moving on to the next window inside the janitor disappeared.
I lost myself in staring at this smudge thinking about how no one would notice it except this man. How many hundreds of people trudge their traffic through that area every day? How many of them, travel-weary and worn, red-eyed and economy sized, are going to notice, let alone care, about a smudge on that window? I hadn't even thought about the upkeep of the airport until the older Indian man in his blue shirt and reflective vest had come over and started washing the window. A family of four stood nearby, from Tennessee as their sweatshirts boldly proclaimed, and I wondered how their lives would be different if no one cleaned the windows. Probably none at all.
Then I saw him again, on the other side of the window swishing and swiping his baton of cleaner, the janitor washing the outside surface of the smudged panel. He inspected carefully. The smudge was not gone. So back inside he went.
This time he put a bit more elbow grease into the spot-cleaning and soon enough the stubborn smudge was gone.
My shuttle arrived and I spent a good part of the time chatting with a woman in town on vacation from Alabama. The rest of my ride back I thought about the guy who took such pride in such a simple job that he made sure he did everything he could to do it right.
And now that's how I want to approach my receptionist job. I take on simple tasks at my job like making copies, faxes, switchboarding, message taking, package delivering. I'd like to take a page out of that custodian at LGA's book and do these simple tasks well. Maybe I'll do them well enough that someone will give me more windows to wash and I'll be thankful I took pride in my job so early on.
Twas a grand, great, magical, stupendous weekend.
And I'm very glad I went.
On the return journey I was waiting for my shuttle to arrive at LGA when a janitor came over and started to move a bench that was against a window. I thought he was about to mop because from his cart he took out a long thin mop but the handle was too short. He took this cleaning wand and began swishing and wiping it across the window. The suds formed great big infinity signs as he made practiced figure-eights with his wrist. Carefully stepping to his right he made sure the expanse of the six-foot long window was covered in bright sparkling soap. He took a step back inspecting his work and satisfied, he moved on to changing instruments to a great big squeegee the size of my leg. Pulling the blade down the glass carefully he made sure not to miss an inch of glass.
Once he was done he returned to his cart and began to move on. Something stopped him, though, as he was about to move on. A smudge, only detectable to the eyes of someone who looks at the glass and not through it, was making a stand against cleanliness and refused to move its oily imprint from the window. The janitor took out his big guns, paper towels and generic windex, and gave the smudge a once-over. When nothing happened, instead of moving on to the next window inside the janitor disappeared.
I lost myself in staring at this smudge thinking about how no one would notice it except this man. How many hundreds of people trudge their traffic through that area every day? How many of them, travel-weary and worn, red-eyed and economy sized, are going to notice, let alone care, about a smudge on that window? I hadn't even thought about the upkeep of the airport until the older Indian man in his blue shirt and reflective vest had come over and started washing the window. A family of four stood nearby, from Tennessee as their sweatshirts boldly proclaimed, and I wondered how their lives would be different if no one cleaned the windows. Probably none at all.
Then I saw him again, on the other side of the window swishing and swiping his baton of cleaner, the janitor washing the outside surface of the smudged panel. He inspected carefully. The smudge was not gone. So back inside he went.
This time he put a bit more elbow grease into the spot-cleaning and soon enough the stubborn smudge was gone.
My shuttle arrived and I spent a good part of the time chatting with a woman in town on vacation from Alabama. The rest of my ride back I thought about the guy who took such pride in such a simple job that he made sure he did everything he could to do it right.
And now that's how I want to approach my receptionist job. I take on simple tasks at my job like making copies, faxes, switchboarding, message taking, package delivering. I'd like to take a page out of that custodian at LGA's book and do these simple tasks well. Maybe I'll do them well enough that someone will give me more windows to wash and I'll be thankful I took pride in my job so early on.
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