11.20.09
Playing down
Not that I have the opportunity all that often, given that I’m of Fairly Low Ranking myself, but last night, both of my matches were played against the same player – who is ranked one level lower than me.
I much, much prefer playing higher-ranked players. I’d rather play someone in the top two rankings than someone closer to my own level. And for a while, I thought the reason I tended to play well during such matches was because I wasn’t expected to win, there was less pressure, so I could relax and enjoy myself.
Playing a highly ranked player, I could get on the 8 in 3-4 turns at the table – the downside being that they could normally get on the 8 in 1-2 turns at the table. But last night, the number of turns it took me to get on the 8 was a multiple of that estimate, and the number of tries it took to actually sink the 8 was laughably high.
So clearly, this is an aspect of my mental game that I need to work on – I should be playing my best game regardless of how my opponent is playing.
This situation got me thinking about other aspects of my life, too. Do I subconsciously alter the way I do things depending on context? And if so, is this a bad thing?
11.19.09
Surprise
Every once in a while, you get a little surprise, exactly when you need it. Even if you don’t know you need it. When doubts creep in, and you’re not quite as sure that your life is going to work out the way you think you want it to, and you wonder if everyone who’s told you to do something else might be right…
A little something happens. Nothing big, nothing huge. But maybe you inadvertently give off a sign that you need a tiny little boost. And someone comes through, and it helps you find your way out of your head, and back to your smile.
11.18.09
Things that just need to stop.
The scrunchie. Granted, this probably HAS stopped everywhere but around government buildings and certain parts of the country that still rely on analog cellular signals, but still. I saw three lovely offenders this morning, two on the metro and one disturbingly close to my office. Seriously, the regular thread-covered elastic looks MUCH better. And a work-appropriate ponytail should be gathered as close to the top of the neck as possible, just FYI.
I do not ever, EVER, need to see Commando Guy in baggy shorts on the leg press machine again, ever. Please think about the day’s routine prior to selecting your workout wardrobe.
High HEELS. HEEEEEEEELS. Not high heals. NEVER high heals. High HEELS.
Please, PLEASE stop relying so heavily on spell check. It will not catch that mistake, because “heals” is an actual word referring to what happens when a wound undergoes the process that makes it not a wound anymore. Also in this category – palate/pallet/palette, which are not interchangeable, but apply to food/warehouse/color, respectively.
Today’s halitosis contest on the Metro? Really doesn’t need to happen again. Toothbrushes can be very inexpensive. So are Altoids. Though if your goal is the return of the pomander, well-played, sirs.
This entry brought to you by the return of insomnia, a dash of food allergy, and a massive case of crankypants. Also, when every single last banana in the store is inedibly green AND my milk inexplicably goes bad before the expiration date, I become kind of a jerk.
11.17.09
Organization? ME??!?
First of all, I want to bring the interrobang back. Now. You know where we can put it? In the “special characters” space currently occupied by “∂”, which apparently stands for “partial differential”. I am SURE the interrobang would get more use, if properly publicized.
At any rate, I was doing a little bit of thinking yesterday, puttering around after work and getting ready for pool. And it hit me.
I need an outline. The reason I’ve made precisely the same three or four paragraphs of headway every time I’ve tried to write a piece of fiction, without fail, is that I have too many options as to where it could go afterward. And I can’t decide, while I’m actually writing, what’s going to happen next. Which characters to introduce when, which backstory should go with whom. All of these ideas just swirl around, bumping into each other and dropping stacks of papers and generally causing a ruckus.
I’d thought, for the longest time, that I was a NO-OUTLINE kinda girl. I mean, I’d start 35-page papers roughly 36 hours in advance of their deadline, with a stack of references to my left, Diet Coke, Marlboro Lights and an ashtray to my right, a roommate with a lighter similarly situated on the other side of the room, and emerge with enough time to shower and change before dropping the paper off in the appropriate faculty mailbox. It was the only way the papers got done (and I did pretty well on them, scarily enough).
But those papers kind of have a built-in outline. Academic work follows a pretty typical pattern, one that was burned into my brain so thoroughly as to become instinctive. And thus, a subconscious outline punctuated by smoke breaks and the occasional Lean Pocket guided my thoughts, kept tangents at bay, and wrangled my theses into a submission.
For this, it is not so automatic. There is no sharply blazed trail through the jungle of my creative brain, and thus… things fall apart. So, I have to write an outline, I suppose, because these ideas REALLY want out of my head.
Anyone know how to do that in a way that won’t make me want to stab out my eyeballs?
11.16.09
Why I can walk today.
I’m a slacker. Kind of. It’s not my fault – really, it’s not!
I was away from the gym for over a week, thanks to the Cold of Doom and the Hacking Cough of Misery that took up residence in my respiratory system for that period of time. And then, as soon as I could get back, I did my super-hardcore-awesome leg workout, which was inspired and largely designed by someone who thinks that being in constant muscular pain should give one a sense of accomplishment.
I felt very accomplished for several days after that workout. Which meant that when I went to the gym on Saturday, it was my arms that took the brunt of the workout, since my legs were telling me they needed another day to recover. And by that I mean, I was still hobbling around as though I’d been on a horse for 3 days.
So I was planning to go again on Sunday. And just like that, it dawned clear and balmy and gorgeous, and I was obligated to spend some time outdoors, appreciating the day. So off for a run I went, and but for one uphill quarter mile at the very end of my route*, appreciated the heck out of the day. And then I appreciated the heck out of some Jillian Michaels.
Which means I can walk like a normal person today. Guess I’ll have to try to feel “accomplished” tomorrow.
*That quarter mile was spent head down, music up, desperately trying to force my diaphragm into a sensible rhythm and mentally cursing whatever iceberg had carved out that particular hill. So, not so much appreciating nature at that point.
11.13.09
I was…
…about to put up a post that was all outraged and thinky about the Archdiocese of Washington and the whole social-services-contracts vs. same-sex-marriage thing. And how annoyed I was at the Church for threatening to withdraw from those contracts if DC passed the laws permitting same-sex marriage.
Because I? Am totally for anyone getting married who wants to. I mean, I have my own personal opinions on what people should probably think about before they do that, but I don’t really care so much about the chromosomal makeup of the parties involved.
And then I read something suggesting that it’s actually the District that would end the contracts if the Church didn’t modify the definition of marriage that it’s held for… well… yeah. The Church has been around for a long time. And I don’t really agree with their stance on this, but… it’s a religion. And people have a right to be religious ignoramuses if they want, and I have a right to not associate with them. And some other states have granted limited exceptions on these issues to make sure that the homeless continue to have some refuge – in the District, these exceptions would mean millions of dollars in social services, to people who really really need them. As I understand it, it also means that the Church wouldn’t marry same-sex couples, wouldn’t provide benefits, as a private employer, to same-sex spouses of Church employees, etc.
And so, it seems like it’s a lot more complicated than it looks, on the surface. Because, well, people should be able to get married, and have those marriages mean something to employers who have benefits plans. But religions shouldn’t have to change basic tenets in order to do good things for people, at least some of whom would likely die without those good things. And practically speaking, it’s hard to say that the District would be right in denying someone food, because someone else couldn’t get health insurance. I don’t know if it’s impossible to say that, but I definitely find it hard.
So, I’m not so sure where I stand on the issue now, given how strongly I support the 1st Amendment, and how strongly I support people in love being able to make a lifelong commitment to each other and attain the social benefits thereof, and how strongly I support people having food to eat, and a place to sleep at night. Maybe the misery of the population whose lives are normally improved through those services, some of whom are undoubtedly same-sex couples themselves, is the price we have to pay for equality AND freedom of religion to coexist.
I just really hope not.
11.12.09
Awful Anticipation
I don’t watch The Hills, for a number of reasons. Primarily, my television time is divided thusly: 70% food-related shows, Grey’s Anatomy, The Good Wife, and various iterations of The Real Houswives take up the remaining 30%, depending on when I’m around to watch them. When I’m ill, I’ll usually set the remote to a marathon of one of the Law and Order shows, or perhaps a CSI or NCIS marathon, all of which seem to take turns staking out 8-10 hour blocks of time on various cable channels.
Clearly, I am no stranger to terrible television. However, this particular habit requires multitasking, as I cannot bear to watch people making *complete* asses of themselves. It’s the reason I hate the National Lampoon movies starring Chevy Chase. It’s just too awful. I can’t watch.
So when I read this lovely preview of MTV’s latest show, about a group of Jersey boys living down the shore, I had mixed feelings. At the very least, I’m going to wind up allocating some valuable Tivo real estate for a show from which my eyes will be averted 85% of the time. On the plus side, I’ll probably get a fair amount of reading, cleaning, emailing, and baking done while I’m waiting for the idiocy to subside to an acceptable level.
MTV inspiring greater domestic productivity. Who knew?
11.11.09
Thank you.
Especially after recent events, all I can think to say is thank you.
Thank you, Mike. Thank you, Co-Worker I’ve Always Liked and Respected. Thank you, Random Internet Friend.
Thank you, Uncle.
Thank you all, for ensuring that we have the freedom to focus on so many other things, to ensure that we live in a place where we can talk about anything we want, however we want.
But the freedom that they fought for, and the country grand they wrought for, Is their monument to-day, and for aye.
~Thomas Dunn English
11.10.09
Running out
I’m running out of things to say, I think. I mean, I could certainly talk about how ready I am for this cold to hightail it to someone else’s upper respiratory region, because I HATE the taste of cough drops and yet, they’re the only things that keep me from showering germs all over my fellow commuters and cube-dwellers. But really, there’s only so much one can say about a cold.
I haven’t had the gumption to do much more with my condo than clean it – and that halfheartedly, at best.
I’m not spending Thanksgiving with my family this year, for perhaps the first time ever, but I don’t know what to say about that yet.
And there’s the situation. The one that I’ve been alluding to for weeks now, and can’t really get into more detail about without betraying the principles of Darth Vaguery that have made it possible to maintain this space without pissing people off. But it’s driving me insane, because how can people who seem perfectly decent in so many ways, who seem to be possessed of a perfectly normal value system… How can they just choose to be wrong? How can they choose to be wrong over something that is so clearly not worth it? And how am I supposed to sit there and keep my mouth shut?
It takes me a long time to let go of people, when I have at one point thought they had potential. And it’s not just because I hate being wrong. It’s because I keep wondering if there’s just something I’m missing, something I’m not seeing. I don’t want to cross that point until I’m sure there’s no reason not to.
And so, I have a hard time letting go, and so right now that task is filling up my brain and not giving me all that much more to say.
11.05.09
Roleplaying
Yeah, not THAT kind. Perhaps another time.
Because, you see, I’m not sleeping again. I mean, I am – from roughly an hour after the Nyquil is ingested until 4:30 am, and then from 5:15 until whenever I wake up (thank you, 6:10 alarm this morning). That time while I’m waiting for the Nyquil to kick in, and that lovely intermission during the wee hours? Have been spent wanting to have a conversation with S.E.
We have a history of doing a lot of the same things. She played the oboe, I played the oboe. She did certain activities in high school, I did certain activities in high school. She went to a certain school in upstate NY, I very nearly wound up at that same school. She majored in English and Psych., I majored in English and Gov’t. She went to law school, I went to law school.
And eventually, she got married and had kids. And I haven’t. And while I’d happily consider making a lifetime commitment under the right circumstances, I’m pretty sure I don’t want kids. I look at that life, and I don’t really want it for myself.
And so, when she said that my decision not to attend the birthday party felt like a rejection of her life, I didn’t know what to say. She’s not entirely wrong. I don’t want that life – if I wanted that life, I’d be in a mommy group of my own, right now. I feel as though when she got married, I realized something she didn’t – that we wouldn’t have as much in common anymore, that we’d have to redefine our relationship to one another.
I feel like she just assumed I’d catch up at some point, the way I always had. That I’d find my own Husband v 1.3, reproduce a couple of years later, and we’d be in the same playdate-scheduling, chauffering-to-preschool boat.
And that’s not going to happen. I love S.E., and I still think she’s wonderful in so many ways, and there are a lot of ways I’d still like to emulate her as I grow up. But… I can’t decide to arrange my entire life a certain way just so we can continue to be close, easily – so that it can be more convenient for her to be my friend as well as my sister. I’m not asking her to make multiple trips down her to immerse herself in my life - I don’t think she’d enjoy it. I just want her to accept the life I’ve chosen for me, the way I’ve tried to do for her.
