looking back ahead, janus style

Retail life is winding down at last and I find myself sagging along with it. Now that the mall isn't open till eleven p.m. and I don't have to keep myself going at completely cruel hours, my body is seizing the opportunity to let me know that it is tired. So tired I can hardly drive anywhere. Which is okay tonight, because I don't have to.

I longingly considered staying at home with some DVDs and greeting the new year in bed, but "I have promises to keep" and find that I don't want to spend New Year's Eve alone after all, so I'll be walking a few doors down to a coworker's apartment and hanging out with her and her roommates, nice and quiet. One of her roommates (random!) drinks yerba mate, so maybe I can scare some hot water and sugar up to take over.

My subject GRE scores indicate that grad school is at least a possibility. Truth be told, I'm very pleased with them, so I'll be working on my Notre Dame apps with a more upbeat and hopeful eye.

And -- hallelujah of hallelujahs -- I'm going home! January 7-11 is going to be my little holiday to drive home and see the people I haven't seen since August. I'll get to sneeze at and love up my cats and smell the home smells and sit around in my robe and drink coffee all I want.

Nine or ten years ago, bored with the self-improvement theme of New Year's Resolutions (because I was a constant self-improvement project to myself, if you can believe it knowing me now), I resolved never to make New Year's Resolutions. In the style of make-and-break them, I have broken that one to make a new one: More consistent devotions and a revamped financial plan. I'm saving up for a TV.

And a truly Sarah Peters moment to cap the drivel:

Yesterday I was helping a client look for a suit and she and her mother kept insisting on skirt suits, which of course we had run out of. I asked the reason why pant suits wouldn't work, and the mom said that a man who ran a business in her daughter's field told her he would be more inclined to hire a woman wearing a skirt suit. She added that another man who ran a business said the same thing.

My lips pinched. My eyes narrowed. I said, "Did you ask a woman who runs a business?"


I'm going to lose my job someday.

winter storm warning

About half an hour ago the snowfall was light and swirly and perfect "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" snow. Now it's coming down so thick the Abominable Snowmonster could come up and eat you and you wouldn't see him.

All of this would, of course, be perfect if I didn't have to drive through it tomorrow.

Christmas at the Sommervilles' might be abbreviated if this doesn't let up by tomorrow...which it's not supposed to. I don't care to drive three and a half hours to a strange place through all of this. Plan B is to drive early Christmas morning to get there by noon. Which would suck, but really as darling Jolly said at work the other day, "Honey, it's not worth your life."

Plan C is two or three invitations I've gotten to spend Christmas with various people I've met at work...some of whom I don't even know very well.

I might be going church-hopping again after the New Year...after more than a month at the South Bend Christian Reformed Church, I still feel like a stranger. Granted, my work schedule doesn't lend to my being very involved, but the people seem preoccupied and remote. Even more preoccupied and remote than I am. Like there's some club membership requirement I'm not aware of, and no one's telling me what it is. I have a better family at work, half of whom aren't Christians.

I didn't think I'd miss the evangelical church. But I do. Possibly because it's familiar. Possibly because it's a little warmer, a little more lively.

Okay, I'd better pack. I need to leave way early for work so that I can hopefully get all the fluids in my car checked before I get there.

can that

I'm NOT desperate! I'm NOT a loser!

I say that with a grin. I made, for the first time ever, biscuits. Lacking a biscuit cutter, I used a juice glass instead, and the biscuits are nearly perfect. Okay, a little doughy at the very center, but yay, they're yummy!

Who needs to go anywhere on a Saturday? I have an oven.

Domestic bliss. Now if I just had a cat...

So. There's the note of happiness. Obviously I feel wretchedly guilty leaving a negative post without some sort of yang to compensate for it. I must at all costs appear happy and successful. For the most part it's true, even if "successful" means "selling enough clothes at Ann Taylor to keep my managers happy." Maybe I'm trying to fool myself. Maybe I'm trying to fool everybody else. Granted, I never thought my life would lead me here; as a child I firmly believed that by twenty-three I would be a staid married woman with a child on the way and two books published. Instead, I'm sitting in mismatched pajamas in my own apartment, with the Christmas tree that I decorated by myself, watching the fine windless snowfall and typing a blog about being single, unpublished, and marginally employed.

Well. So here I am.

slump

My feet are cold.

It's a day where all the ends are coming unravelled. Probably I just need sleep; when I feel like an emotional disaster, that's usually the case.

Overworked? Yes. Underpaid? Hell yes. Overwrought? Definitely.

Plus it's a Saturday night and I'm sitting in my apartment. Fun, fun.

So, if you have any Christmas cheer to spare, could you send it my way? I hate this. I don't even feel like being positive. I'm by myself in Indiana and I can't go home.

I want my mom.

christmas commercialism, wahoo.

I keep forgetting what day it is.

This is a bad sign. I figured out yesterday that by the time Christmas rolls around, I will have gone almost exactly three straight weeks without a day off. Without one -- day -- off.

How am I keeping sane? I don't know. I didn't really know that this level of "working stiff" was possible.

Come January, leaving the mall at ten will be a treat. I'll check my watch and say, wow, I can't believe I'm leaving this early. (Well, I'll look at my cell phone; I haven't worn a watch in about two years.)

At least there's an angel on my tree. I can't decide if I want Christmas music or silence.

Is it Friday? Is it really? I forgot again.

yukon, ho!

I hate having neighbors.

I hate hearing noise through the walls. A few minutes ago it was an inexplicable, hesitant tapping on the inside of Marianne's bedroom wall. Now it's the blurry zz-vv-mm-zz of a television turned way too far up.

This was my biggest beef with dorm life in college. I was always pounding on doors and asking, in my loudest voice, if the people inside could turn their music down please, as I generally try to sleep at three in the morning and don't like to feel the subwoofer vibrating the walls. I spent most of college intensely hating my neighbors.

This is making me want a private apartment somewhere, as I can't hope to afford a house yet. Somewhere above someone else's home, where it's quieter and I'm not bordered on every conceivable side by people I don't want to know.

And that is my complaint of the day. On a good note, I found a lovely angel to top my tree today. And a few really cute ornaments. So now my tree looks a little less like I took it out of a box.

Oh yes, and I got out of work two hours early. Also lovely.

and then the silence

What? I haven't posted since Sunday? Oh that's right. I've been working. A lot.

Retail during the Christmas season is its own Charybdis of insanity. The ironic thing is that for the most part I've enjoyed it tremendously. The rush has shown me what I'm capable of, salesperson-wise. Turns out I'm not at all bad. Turns out I rather like it.

Life is funny. I would never, ever, in a million years have seen myself doing something like this AND loving it. It's great to be out here on my own, even with the ridiculous hours (most of next week I'll be getting out of work at midnight. Yes. Midnight), even with having little life to call my own. The women with whom I work are like family, and I get to be around so many interesting people.

I'm even beginning to enjoy Indiana. It will be nice if I can get a chance to leave South Bend and travel/explore a little more extensively, but the Midwest isn't the pit of monotony that I had thought. It has broad open skies, a new phenomenon which I love, and four seasons. The people are generally extremely decent. The pace is slower, but it's not awful.

We'll see where my life goes. I took the general GRE on Tuesday -- oh, was that yesterday? I forgot because I worked till close right after taking it -- and it kicked my ass. I think the verbal score is good enough for Notre Dame, but I'm not sure. Well, if worst comes to worst I'll just reapply next year.

Who knew I'd turn out to be an optimist? There are huge downsides -- like cooking for myself (booooring) and not having anyone to hug (wrenching), no health insurance and no cat -- but on the whole I'm enjoying this very much.

teas are a few of my favorite things

Incredible but true (if someone isn't playing a huge joke) ... Here follows an IM message from Brandon Carper today:

* * *
Here's a funny anecdote for you. A friend of mine is really into Annie Dillard, and he joked on his blog that, since she was too old for him to marry, he would like to marry her daughter instead. So one day Annie Dillard's daughter googled her name, found my friend's blog, and emailed him.
* * *

Now, if this isn't incredible. Too bad Annie Dillard doesn't have (as far as I know) a son.

In other news, I rediscovered the joy of Wal-Mart today. For the past four months, I have relentlessly donned mental blinders while shopping for necessary things like coffee creamer and broccoli and bread in Wal-Mart. I stripped the store of its wonder in order to accomodate my budget. But tonight, Jen, a wonderful friend whom I met through working at Gymboree, got off work at her other job at the Disney store at the same time that I got off from Ann Taylor, so we goofed around all evening and wound up at Wal-Mart. "I just need coffee creamer, eggs, and milk," I said. "I just need trash bags," she said.

Two hours later we left with two cartloads of what can only be termed stuff. A quick tunnel-visioned duck into the food section turned into a leisurely perusal of the Christmas decorations and drunken laughter over coffee and pickles. We wandered aimlessly from department to department, giggling loudly enough to attract friendly stares from the other customers; it was almost like days gone by when I headed off to Wal-Mart for hours of entertainment with Han and Kiki.

I had forgotten that Wal-Mart is one of my favorite places on earth. This is probably because I go to Wal-Mart alone now, and everyone knows that going to Wal-Mart alone is like going out to dinner alone. With a friend, it's as good as Disney World, minus the big scary red-shorted mouse. Something came unhinged in my diaphragm and my laugh was for once light and unforced. It was delightful. I was in such a good mood I laughed out loud and alone when I drove past a huge blow-up Santa passed out on the front porch of the house he was supposed to be cheering.

I am also pleased to report that my spendthrifting is now twenty-five dollars at a pop instead of forty-five like it was in college.

Off for my latest passion, a long saunautic bath with a burning candle and a book. Mmmm.

what a wonderful world

First, allow me to say how much I love winter: I really love winter. Even bare rainy days such as this one when there is no snow, the trees are a darkwet green-silver-grey, and the grass is exhibiting a faded green only from habit. Everything is dead, silent, and asleep, except for the wind. And it's lovely beyond compare.

On to other things. I should start saying "Whatever" more often. It seems that when I do, I get the phone calls I'd been waiting for in agony and not receiving.

And on that note, I have to work (yes, on a Saturday!) and my beloved Earl of Oxford -- a stodgy, harrumphing, middle-aged four-cylinder 1994 Dodge Caravan, to those of you who have not been introduced to Earl -- needs his weekly sip of gas.

boom, baby!

Who am I kidding? If I wind up a bluestocking spinster with eight cats, it'll be because I chose it. And I'll love every minute of it. This, my friends, is my life, written by God and by myself and by no one else. Though I adore its cast of characters, invented and non-invented.

My life is, and will be, good. After all, I am Sarah Peters!

Oz has spoken.

raindrops on roses

I want a cat. I want a lithe, sleek, glossy, self-satisfied mysterious blazing-eyed proud hunter of a housecat. I want to watch it get into mischief in my apartment. I want to tickle its chin and rub its nose. I want to kiss it on the fuzzy wrinkles between its ears and hold it warm and heavy on my lap, purring and rattling and sticking its claws into my leg.

I want a cat. I want a cat. I want a cat.

and then there was (a) light.

Good thing that happened today: After dreaming that I got fired at Ann Taylor for being late, I got there on time and had a great selling day.

Best thing that happened today: Evan Pulgino became my personal hero by sending me The Final Sacrifice and Future War. I was actually so sick for The Final Sacrifice yesterday that I almost cried. It was like missing home. Now I have it in my own living room.

This mildly compensates for my inevitable destiny as a bluestocking barren old spinster with eight cats.

patience comes to those who wait.

This was a favorite saying of my high school youth pastor's. Not "good things come," but "patience comes." His adage, I think, is truer.

I find myself forced to live patiently in another question. I'm not good at being patient, but I feel more strongly than I care to that this time I must be. It's not an option, Smalls. It's hard when the phone doesn't ring, but this reminds me that I have to keep on living my life in the best way possible, independently of anyone else. This means a return to discipline, a rededication to joy and contentment where I am, and a renewal of childlike trust in the Creator who guides my life along paths that are straight in spite of my failure to see it. The fault is with my eyes, with my mortality, with my human limitations; and while God is not angry with me for these, he does require that I put my hand up to his and follow diligently where he leads, surrendering my failures to his care. Faith is the completion of the small or great things that I lack.

It's something like Orual's and Psyche's observations in Till We Have Faces. Brought into contact with divinity, mortality feels keenly its own limitations and is ashamed of them. But "perfect love driveth out fear," and this is what I must remember and hold fast to. And this is what makes faith possible: that the God who has me by the arms and teaches me to walk has my best at heart, out of love. The same love that called the world into being with a word, with The Word, who roped himself in flesh to fill a depth in me that I cannot fathom and to bring many people impossibly together in that love. And who does not hold my empty hands against me, but shows me how to use them, to add a few stones to a kingdom.

Now for the patience. And the trust.

only in Indiana

My egg carton has a Bible verse on the inside lid.

for an' what we have received, thank God.

In about an hour, after I have run to the post office, wherever that is (I have to look for one in Mishawaka; I hate South Bend proper), I will be debt free.

The short version of the story is this: Three years ago almost exactly, I was in a car accident with my mother on the way home for Thanksgiving break from Grove City. As we were passing a car on slippery I-79, it skidded and veered into us at a 90 degree angle, hitting my side of the car (Mom was driving) and knocking my head into the window. The result was permanent damage of a sort to the ligaments and tendons of my neck. So for the past three years we have been putting the screws to the other insurance company for compensation.

Last month it went through, and I received enough to pay off my GCC loan and my credit card bills. Today the check clears and I can make the final payments and celebrate my freedom, mostly by being just as poor as before but without the extra weight of a couple hundred dollars a month.

I'm watching a nuthatch and a squirrel running around in the bare woods. Nice to see something living besides myself.

oh the weather outside is...bizarro.

My zip code according to WeatherBug has a flood warning.

But it's not raining, you say.

But it's Indiana, I reply.

Oh. Well then I'll dig out my galoshes and catch you a lovely bass.

on second thought...

I love my overreactions to everything.

After careful consideration, I think mabye I won't be a hermit. The Rockies would still be nice.

like trees in november

Tired and a little depressed today. Considering the possibility of moving to the Rockies and becoming a hermit. Nothing but months and months of gorgeous, silent, lonely snow.

here, put this on....it's made of lunchmeat.

I'm thinking my malady was/is stomach flu, not food poisoning after all. But I've become afraid of the turkey since Thursday, and so it's still sitting in all its Little Shop of Horrors malice at the back of the refrigerator.

Sometimes quiet, thoughtful acts of kindness are a form of revenge.

Tomorrow I'm going to make another dent in my Christmas shopping. This is not revenge, but pleasure.

a pox on the turkey that poxed me

The title reads better if you say (or think) "poxed" in two syllables, like a line from Shakespeare. Unfortunately no backward accent mark for the "e" on blogger. (This is my only complaint so far regarding blogger.)

Felt better through the day but declined toward evening, which really sucked as I was supposed to go out with guy from church tonight. We're rescheduled for Sunday, though, so all shall (I hope) be well. Damn the turkey.

Although on a best-interest note this does present an opportunity to be well-rested for a grueling work day tomorrow. So it will work out for the best in the long (or short) run.

I bought a new pair of jeans today! The old ones would barely stay on. The new ones are gorgeous and wonderfully long. Nothing excites me more than a fantastic pair of new jeans and fantastic new sweaters. Except for perhaps a good haircut. And since I have all three, my little princess self is quite satisfied.

Clytemnestra has taken a hiatus for a short time. I have no energy to write, and no will. But nothing is lost; it's been an incubation period for several characters and scenes, albeit ones far in the future, and so I think when the Muse decides to sit on me again I'll have something to put to the paper. I don't mind terribly not wanting to write; I have a lot on my mind (such as Christmas shopping and Christmas cards -- ack! -- and the ever-present question of money) and hell, it's the Christmas season: Even if I can't get a real week's vacation, I can take a break from something.

I'm incredibly excited to go to the Sommervilles'. I love their family, and it's going to be wonderful to be part of one for the most crucial twenty-four hours of the year.

And now a request: Would all of you who read this blog and who already know me in person kindly send me your mailing information? Now that Christmas cards have a point, I'm going to do my best to send bunches out to the people far away from me, whom I miss and love. But I can't locate my old GCC directory, and so no home addresses. My IM screen name is prettypuddleglum; I should be online frequently, so send it my way. Help me love you!

And it's bedtime. I finished the First Jungle Book and have begun possibly the eighth or ninth reading of Watership Down. I'm in the mood for animal stories, and Richard Adams does a wonderful job creating a culture and folklore for his rabbits, which he interweaves excellently with an epic tale of heroism and vision. And the chapters are short, which makes for great toilet reading.

turkey sandwich aftermath

So, turkey doesn't even last a week before going bad. Not knowing this, I ate it in two sandwiches yesterday ('tis the season to be broke) and today my guts felt like someone punched straight down on them from somewhere in my diaphragm. The good news: I got to leave work early. The bad news: I'll be out fifteen bucks. Not much, you say? That's groceries for a week.

Oh well. I've made a new dedication to my dietary well-being: Cook more. Peanut butter and tuna fish sandwiches only cut it for so long. Marianne bought a fabulous book of casserole recipes, so I plan to do the poor-and-independent casserole thing. My coworkers have started yelling at me for getting thinner, and I don't want to overdo it. I refuse to shrink out of my brand new clothes.

The problem is that cooking takes so much time and planning. But if I could work cooked broccoli into my regular diet, then surely I can find time once a week to make a big meal.

Bah. I just want to read books.

Okay, blogging is not sleeping off mild food poisoning. Stupid fricking turkey.

wolfling of my watching

I do love Kipling's First Jungle Book. If you've never read it, you should. First of all, for sheer story it's gorgeous. It's nothing like the Disney version -- which, while clever and full of great music, absolutely cheesifies what is a magnificent, raw, rich, and profoundly proud tale. The characters speak in the King's English, a speech of great dignity and nobility, and oh, the stories are wonderful. This book taught me to understand "thee" and "thou" even before the Bible did. I fell in love with Bagheera and Kaa. Akela was one of my childhood heroes. So was Hathi the Silent, reticent Master of the Jungle, answerable to no one.

What I always hated most about the Disney movie is the way it robs these great creatures of their dignity. But thankfully it left a good deal of Mowgli's tale untold, so that it didn't ruin the whole book. There are many tales of cunning, courage, strategy, sympathy, and love beyond the bare bones of the story of a Man-cub raised by wolves who eventually kills his chief enemy Shere Kahn.

Read it. My copy is battered, I've had to tape the covers on several times, and there is a place in the margin, running all through the chapter "How Fear Came," where a worm ate its way a good eighth of an inch into the pages. The pen-and-ink illustrations are marvellous. The paper is old and yellow and brittle and new pieces of corners flake off with each reading, and I couldn't adore it more.

I think there was a short film made of the first chapters, but not by Disney, just as there was a film of Rikki Tikki Tavi and The White Seal. I wonder who made it and if I could find it. I watched them when I was very, very little, and they preserved the original tale-teller flavor and tendency to psalmsong and wonderful characterization of the stories.

In other notes, there is a light dusting of snow on the floor of the woods outside my window and I'm terrifically excited for winter. I love this season of desolate beauty with a fierce wild delight that even autumn doesn't inspire.

Also I've lost nineteen pounds to date since moving. I've never felt healthier. (And yes, my dears, I'm eating and eating well, very balanced and adequate meals, and I still love my desserts. I'm just not eating overly much. Living on the go is like that.) But now all my clothes are ridiculously large and restocking a wardrobe is expensive. Not that I'm complaining. All I need is one more pair of pants and I'll be set for awhile. Thank goodness for associate discounts at Ann Taylor.