Saturday, July 19, 2014

Waiting on the thunder

We’ve had a lot of fog in recent weeks and the English major in me (who wrote an incredible paper about the role of fog in early American lit (some one should be calling me about publishing it any year now)) can’t help but see it as a metaphor: I can see where I am right now but the near future, while not exactly mysterious, is impossible to make out from where I stand (or, sit, as the case may be).
Foggy commute #hydeparkchicago Despite grey days, the markets are bright with color. I’ve been disconnected from the seasons this year in a way that leaves me unsatisfied. My mind has been on July since November, making it difficult to stay present for the end of fall, winter, and spring. My thoughts wander into the foggy future ahead and I have to pull myself back to now. To berries. To basil. Happily, these flavors, smells, and colors have excellent grounding powers.
#greencitymarket haul
#greencitymarket haul — admittedly, I went a little wild with the stone fruits.#greencitymarket haul#greencitymarket haul I’ve survived my first week at home by filling my days with activities and projects. After many google searches (varying versions of “will I be bored at home quit job pregnancy?” (the Internet always knows)), I drafted a to-do list to determine if I’d have enough… to do. The list provided lots of structure and I completed seven of the eight tasks, focusing on doing simple things that will be harder with an outside baby and are manageable with this insider. I’ve been to brunches and lunches and dinners, seen a spontaneous movie, sat in the bookstore to read, consumed numerous decaf iced lattes (Alex says I make them look less like drinks and more like life-preservers), and spent the better part of a day watching Real Housewives and doing a puzzle. You know, important independent lady stuff.
#survivaltactics#ladiessummerbookclub reading @pleinaircafeIndoor Midwest picnicSnack time at @pleinaircafe with @maireadsTackling some things on my #todolist. Our apartment is also in an unparalleled state of order (a combination of items “3. Deep clean the house” and “4. Maintain dishes and laundry without wanting to die.”) And our freezer is packed. I’ve been putting up summer produce (a process that has rooted me in the summer season even though it’s all about preparing for winter)—freezing corn, pesto, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, peaches, and cherries—in addition to a large tray of stuffed shells for the Dark Times ahead.
#puttingup The nursery is done. My hospital bag is packed, though we still need a few more items, namely snacks for during and champagne for after. I was That Person on the labor/delivery tour who asked the nurse if the hospital was BYOB (results inconclusive and I am too desperate to be deterred by a mildly appalled face).
This is what you do while you wait. We’ll see how far I get into week two of unemployment before it’s time to really work.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

I am large, I contain multitudes.

My friend told me a story yesterday about a sloppy improv incident where a fellow player yelled, "CHLOROFORM!" shutting down the scene by taking a whole cast of characters out of the story. This seems an apt way to describe my recent actions as I am pretty sure I quit my job yesterday: I all but yelled "CHLOROFORM!" as I was leaving the office with a bag of Tupperware, shoes, and an appropriated Taylor Swift calendar. (That is, my personal effects.)



It hasn't quite sunk in that I won't be going to this place I've gone each day for the past five years—that I've shut down all these characters I've known and that storyline in my life is over. My mom says "life is in the details" and I guess I'm in the process of changing mine.



If you can't tell, I have a lot of Feelings lately. Because of which or why I'm listening to a lot of Death Cab remains unclear.



I'm nearing the end now—Salami seems strong from the inside while we seem prepared from the outside. The one pair of maternity jeans I bought have developed a hole. And I suffer the usual complaints of sleepless nights (despite a lap or two around the Point each evening) and lots of groaning when attempting routine motions. (I wrote this watching the sky lighten with the sun and then stall on a cloudy morning—a fitting metaphor for where we are in this Big Wait.)


So I've decided not to work but to spend the next few weeks bangin on me drum all day—where the drum is actually cleaning the bathroom floor (an activity I have not had the energy for but with which I am completely obsessed), putting up fresh summer produce for winter, and napping.



These are my new details. At least until the baby arrives.