This fall has been maddening, mainly because of changes in everyone’s lives that are screwing up all my attempts to get a handle on things, order being the only thing that gives me a modicum of peace of mind in this crazy world full of uncertainty, crazy Republicans and a freelance income stream. Kate started high school, where the bell rings 20 minutes earlier than it did in middle school, meaning earlier mornings. Alan started a new job, shifting from a night shift to days. There are new after-school activities, new friends, new everything, and just when I think it’s settled in, something else comes up.
Plus, I’m still working until 1 a.m. every weeknight, which means I don’t get to sleep until 1:30, which means even more sleep deprivation, the Grump-o-Meter rising through the week until today it actually shorted out. I awoke to a clamorous house before 7 a.m. — Alan shepherding an earnings story onto the web from our kitchen table, Kate with her usual teenage grooming rituals — and actually felt calm. I think it was the collapse of will, a certain caving-in of the belief that I will ever again have a rewarding job that pays a decent salary, with a 401K, a paid vacation and a more or less normal schedule. I will never again get more than five hours of rest in a night, except on weekends. And year will pile upon year, and then I’ll be dead. Om.
Well, I’ll tell you one thing: I’m done cooking for the week. Roast chicken Saturday, meat loaf Sunday, baked ziti Monday and pot roast last night. (Really good pot roast. I’m the only one who likes it, which suggests a certain hostility in adding it to the weekly menu, but if you don’t like this pot roast, there is something wrong with you.) There are plenty of leftovers, and if anyone dares to look me in the face and ask what’s for dinner, I’ll jerk my thumb in the direction of the refrigerator and bark, “Microwave.”
Oh, I’m just grousing. I’m gearing up for an R&R weekend day after tomorrow, after which everything will smooth out for a while.
But now I have to head down to campus, for an internship fair. We have a table and a banner for our little hyperlocal website, although if I were being honest, I’d substitute one reading CHANGE YOUR MAJOR.
I have a little bloggage today:
Tony Fadell is a graduate of Grosse Pointe South High School, and is generally called the inventor of the iPod, although obviously that other guy had a lot to do with it, too. He left Apple a couple years ago and formed a new startup, about to unveil its first product — a programmable thermostat that’s as beautiful, and as easy to use, as an iPod. (Only a native of the frozen Midwest would see the utility of such a thing. My allegedly programmable thermostat is a steaming piece of crap, and should have been smashed in the driveway with a sledgehammer long ago.) The bad news: It costs as much as a month of gas heat. Still: WANT.
Jon Stewart, Pat Robertson, the GOP field: Comedy gold.