I was proud of myself and had to share

I've been doing more cleaning (thanks, Hoarders!).  Yesterday, I reorganized the kitchen cupboards so that they don't annoy me anymore.  Also, now there's room so that, should I magically obtain more cookware, I have room for more cookware. 

And then this morning, I was looking at our built-in shelving, dissatisfied with how I'd organized it this weekend.  Yes, it was much better than before.  (I wish I had a picture of how messy it was before.  There were stacks of VHS and cassette tapes, and cords everywhere.  It was so messy that, when I started excavating the whole thing, I discovered the fondue pot that I lost.  How do you lose a fondue pot in such a small space?)  But I didn't like how the basket was sitting on top of my record collection, and I also didn't like how close the two baskets were, because then you could tell that they were different colours.  And that hurt my brain.  (And yes, that shelve really is devoted to Old Media, especially now that the cords have been relegated to The Basket Under the TV, Near the Router.)

So, after sitting under my SAD lamp this morning, I did this:

It looks better, right?  I know it doesn't look like I did much, but I got rid of a bunch of records, so that the basket would fit beside my record collection.  I also reorganized my collection so that I can find things again.  Now, the records to the left of the big Sloan boxed set are from the 1960s and 70s (arranged by artist and somewhat by year and genre), and the records to the right are soundtracks (except for The Graduate soundtrack, which belongs with my Simon & Garfunkel records), classical, kids' music and Christmas music. 

Now I need to write some dissertation, and limit the housecleaning to actually washing the dishes.  Because the dishes are gross.  Because I'd rather organize records than wash dishes.

I think this post will only really be of interest to my mother, but that's okay.

Obsessive Hair-Blogging Again

Call it "I'm approaching my thirtieth birthday and needed to do something spontaneous." Call it "I now have gone to the same hairdresser long enough that I trust her to do whatever she thinks looks good."  Call it "I've been reading old-timey German on microfilm and was starting to feel haggard." 

I got a lot of hair cut off today.  A lot.  I love it, but am also totally neurotic about it.  (This comes as a surprise to no one, correct?)

Here it is: 

So short, right?  It feels so much better, since it had been an impossible length for a while, and I'd started putting it in strange pigtails while I was working.  I was thinking it was a little Dooce.

But then I started watching 30 Rock and it occurred to me: do I have the same haircut as Kenneth Parcell?

Here's the comparison, using a slightly different shot of my haircut (brushed to the side differently):

Right?  Right?

(Don't worry: I still love my haircut. And at least it isn't the Bieber.)

Bird Update

(Because I just know you were eagerly anticipating this.)

So, the robin's been attacking our office windows more today, but only when I'm in the office (our place is small enough that I'd hear it), which makes me suspect that there's a nest somewhere around that corner of the house, and that the bird sees me as a threat. 

What should we do?  I don't want to disturb a bird's nest.  I think we'll have to close our office blinds for the next while (sadly), and maybe warn the landlords to avoid that part of the yard.  Except that it's also near the garbage cans and bikes, and so I don't know if that plan's too feasible. 

(Today, I've set up at the desk in my bedroom, so that I can stay out of the robin's way.  Particularly because I get a little too jumpy when I'm anticipating that a bird might start attacking the windows at any moment.)

The inevitable result

Do you know how easily I can get scared?  I talked on the phone with Karl and joked with him about how a robin was trying to send me a message through my windows, and then he joked that the bird might have been trying to lure me outside to where all the other birds were hiding, Hitchcock-style. 

And now I'm home alone this evening, and I've managed to scare myself for irrational reasons. 

I'm officially a dork.

It might be time to leave the house

I've been sitting at my desk for a very long time now.  I haven't left the house all day, and I'm at that point where I have a blanket wrapped around my legs, a pashmina wrapped around my shoulders, and my space heater running, but it might actually be a normal temperature in here but I can't tell anymore because I've been inside for so long.

And I just might be going insane.  A few minutes ago, I looked out the window beside me, and was surprised to see a robin starting in at me, right up against my window.  It sort of gave me a jolt to see it, but then I also realised that it was surprising because it was the first living creature I'd seen all day.  (Not to say that I've seen any dead creature. I just couldn't think of a better way to say it, on account of the fact that I've been reading German all day.)

So, I Twitttered about it and tried to get back to work.  And that's when I heard a sound behind me.  I turned around, expecting to see my landlord working on something on the back of the house, but instead there was that robin again!  It had flown around the house and was now staring into the office window behind me, and was pecking at the window.

And my first thought was "If this was a movie, I'd assume the bird was trying to tell me something."

My next thought was that I really need to get out of the house, because I've clearly reached the hallucination stage of cabin fever. But that I'm a little too creeped out to leave the house, on account of the red-breasted robin that's stalking me.

And then I realised that those last words I typed were the craziest words I've ever written in my life.

No more caffeine for me.

Struggling Through

I've spent this week getting back into a routine. My routine got thrown off for a while: Geoffy visited, and then I was really sick for more than a week, and then my parents visited. I got work done during that time (I found and translated a new-to-me German primary source, and then adapted many of my plans for my dissertation in light of what I found with this source). However, I didn't keep to a regular schedule, I didn't work at my desk, and (most importantly) I didn't add any words to my chapter. For a few weeks.

Somehow, it was intimidating to get back into chapter-writing. It was also intimidating getting back to working seriously at my desk, somehow. I kept remembering all the lost time (and forgetting the well-spent time), and then old "But this is a CHAPTER! For my DISSERTATION!" anxiety came creeping back.

And so I broke it into manageable chunks. The first day, my goal was just "I need to have written something by the end of the day." And so (after much gnashing of teeth) I re-read what I'd already written, found a place where I hadn't finished a thought, and finished off a couple of paragraphs, adding a few thoughts here and there. And I built from there. This week I've been taking the "I just need to write a little bit" approach, and I just realised that it's been working: I've doubled the size of my chapter this week by approaching it little by little. (Of course, my chapter is still in the place where it's not so difficult to double its size, but give me that victory for now, please.)

And now let's see if I can write a little more today. Maybe today I'll try to build up some more momentum.

Peaceful

This hasn't been the most peaceful week. Some of it is my own fault: on Sunday afternoon I had way too much caffeine (made a "chai nog" latte that involved both a double-shot of espresso and some very strong chai) and was zooming around for the next twenty-four hours. At my friend Andrea's Hanukkah party I was talking at triple speed the whole time, and then I only managed a few hours of sleep that night. I was even feeling buzzy for part of Monday. I'm apparently a bit of a lightweight when it comes to caffeine.

(On the positive side, after Chris fell asleep on Sunday night, I got a crazy amount of dissertation work done. Like, I reorganized my chapters and then wrote a few pages of introduction.)

Some of this less-than-peaceful week is outside of my control. There are some big issues that we're trying to figure out, and even at the best of times it's easy for my anxiety to take over.

But tonight I choose to be peaceful. I've deliberately taken a little more time doing everything. We had a couple of good friends over and I made a good and filling meal. Supper was a little late because I took a walk to my cheese shop. While we were waiting for the meat to be done cooking, we all drank big mugs of gen mai cha tea. Now that they're gone, I'm listening to Glen Hansard and sitting by the Christmas tree. (Not that Glen Hansard is particularly Christmassy.)

Sometimes it takes some work to slow down. But I'm glad that I did.

Avoiding going to bed

Chris is at a teachers' convention on the mainland, and so I'm home alone until Friday. It's funny how much weirder it is to be the spouse alone at home; I've been away from Chris for weeks at a time, but I'm rarely the one left here alone. I tend to stay up a little too late when I'm on my own here, and watch too much TV so that I don't listen for weird noises in the house. (You might be able to tell that I'm doing that right now. Watching the TV shows that I taped while I was away at prayer meeting.)

In other news, I'm planning on being really brave on Friday. I'm going to get myself to Vancouver all by myself, ride the SkyTrain alone, and then after Chris and I meet up, we're going to be dressed in Rider gear in the eighth row (30 yard line) at BC Place. I've never been at a game cheering for the away team before. It's one thing to yell loudly when everyone else is yelling with you; it's a completely other thing when there's a distinct possibility that you're going to be surrounded by Lions fans. (Of course, Chris will always be louder than me.)

Well, I guess if I'm going to brave Berlin all by myself (and Ky just went to London alone), I'm going to have to be alone in Vancouver for a few hours.

The man I married

Chris was curious about how he'd score on the Beck Depression Inventory. We found an online version and he tried it out. His score: 0 -- "You are absolutely free of depression. Are you sure you answered each question honestly?"

And he did. It's amazing: I'm married to the most mentally stable man on earth. I appreciate that about him. (Even though sometimes I call him a robot. Absolutely no insomnia ever?)

Dun dun DUNNNN!

I needed to take out a few books and a movie from the library, and so I convinced Chris to come with me this evening. As we approached, I stopped to re-check the closing time, because the whole building was dark. It turned out that the power had been out for an hour already, but the library was still up and running (as long as you didn't need to look anything up on the computer).

I really didn't want to have to come back, and between the emergency lights and the big windows, you could make your way around well enough, and so I decided to go and find my books.

The first books I had to get were just on the second floor, where there are big windows and where plenty of students were still studying, huddled under the emergency lights. The only thing that seemed strange was the complete silence.

But then I needed a book from the third floor mezzanine level. The third floor's mezzanine is creepy on a good day: with its thin railings and its sudden staircases cut through the floor, I always feel like I'm going to fall off. (And it's the level that has all the history books.) Without the power, with very few windows and with no one on the third floor or its mezzanine? Super creepy. Especially when I came back down to the regular level and discovered that Chris had disappeared. I couldn't find him in the entire half of the building where I'd last seen him, even when I called out his name.

Seriously: I'm twitchy enough at night, and I should never watch any remotely scary movies because they all run through my head at once when I'm alone in the dark. And when I'm alone in a dark, empty and remote part of the library?

Of course, as soon as I lost my nerve and decided to go and wait out in the brightly-lit stairway, a librarian with a flashlight came up to the third floor. And I was just joking with her that I'd lost my husband to the creepy darkness when Chris appeared, having been looking for me up on the mezzanine level. (He'd also been toying around with the idea of jumping out and scaring me up there, but decided that the library wouldn't take too kindly to someone screaming as if murdered.)

Saturday Morning Question Time

Time: 8:58AM, by the clock on the computer.

Location: Futon

I am wearing: pyjamas, hair in a bobbly ponytail, rubber-soled slippers

Current music: Simon and Garfunkel singing "Bye Bye Love" (I've been working my way through the record of Bridge Over Troubled Water)

I'm procrastinating from: cleaning the house before Janny flies here tomorrow.

Where I've been since Monday: Quieting my brain. Considering the fact that I have problems controlling my anxiety on a good day, the recovery from such such a long stretch of non-stop stress and panic (with bonus episodes of uncontrollable crying because I'm convinced I won't be able to handle the exams) took me several days. On Tuesday I overdid it and made myself busy all day. On Wednesday, I fell apart because I realised that, at my current pace, I wouldn't get a change to stop before Janny arrived. I ended the day by bursting into tears while trying to make muffins for prayer meeting, after which Chris decided that we were not hosting prayer meeting that evening and that I was heading for bed. Thursday morning I spent mid-panic attack, hyperventilating about how I was going to find the emotional energy to volunteer at Chris's school's walk-a-thon that afternoon. The funny thing is that the walk-a-thon was actually where I began to finally decompress.

What ended up helping: Talking out all my crazy thoughts with Chris. Also, having my friend Rebecca over for lunch yesterday (she had taken the day off); we had a picnic on the back lawn while wearing silly hats.

How I feel now: Calm. I can't really handle any new major stresses yet, but I'm not getting stressed out by everyday life anymore. I'm also happy. It really is nice finally being able to stop and relax without feeling guilty that I should be accomplishing something.

Soufflés and Anxieties

For those of you who were wondering: the soufflé was a success! (I think? It went all puffy and it tasted fine, although it was lumpy on the top and I suspect that I whipped the egg whites too much, because they were really difficult to fold into the yolk/white sauce mixture.) I next want to try the Joy of Cooking's Goat Cheese and Walnut Soufflé, but I'd have to find people to come over for supper for that, because it makes eight servings.

My next expedition will be making bread, which I will do today, provided that I get the dishes washed and enough books read.

In other news: do any of you have advice about building up my confidence, regarding my upcoming exams? My anxiety has taken over entirely. I'm haunted by all these questions -- what if I don't finish reading in time? What if I can't remember everything from the beginning and I fail miserably? Am I really capable of handling this degree? What if I disappoint everyone?

The exams have built themselves up to be huge in my mind. I think part of the problem is that the whole "failing to get [Shirk-alike] because I'm still working on comps" thing did some bad things to my confidence.

So: how do I get back to feeling like a capable person again? How do I keep myself from being frozen by my anxiety? How do I set all of this aside and just get the stinking reading done?

Any suggestions?

Begin the compulsive hairblogging!

So, I think I like it. At least, I like it now that I've come home and tamed the hairdo with some hair product, and have de-puffyified it to my liking:


Before? I wasn't so sure. But I think it's because she took mousse and a round brush to my hair while blow-drying it, advocating that this is what was needed, to add "body" to my hair. I have provided a photographic re-creation of how puffy it was, before I walked home:

It was a little...matronly. But it was just the blow-drying that did it, thankfully. I'll hold off full judgment until I've washed it and styled it myself.

In other news: apparently, I'm even more predictable than I thought. I stopped by the McDonald's next door to the hair salon (which is down the street) before my haircut. When I ordered my usual 6 piece McNuggets meal with honey, the guy at the till asked me what I wanted to drink.

"Sprite," I said.
His response: "Just like last time."

???

I'm pretty sure it has been months since I've been there last. I think this is even weirder than the time that the guy on the phone at Pizza Hut knew what I wanted to order before I could ask ("Will that be two large stuffed crust pizzas, one pepperoni and one Canadian, as usual?" "Uh, yes actually."). At least you could blame computers for the latter incident.

And for my next trick...

I get my hair chopped off today!

For my birthday, I got a gift card for the hairdresser that I've been wanting to check out. (Her salon is just down the street and so I can walk there!) I called to see if I could get in for an appointment this week, and it turned out that she had an opening this afternoon! Chris will be surprised because, while he knows that I'm going to get my hair cut sometime before I leave, he doesn't know that it's going to happen before he gets home from work today.

...compulsive hairblogging to follow.

Side effects of too much marking

For the past half-hour, a noise has been driving me crazy. Is it the furnace? Is someone outside of my window, whistling? Is the gate open and creaking? I absolutely could not identify the noise.

Until I realised that it was birds. Chirping. Right. They do that. I'd forgotten about birds.

Note to self: get myself outside, once this batch of marking is done.

Lesson Learned

Don't take a "Do You Have An Anxiety Problem?" quiz when you haven't left the house since Sunday and now it's Tuesday evening. Especially when you've spent those days: a.) panicking about impending funding application deadlines, b.) reading books about fascism that you should have read last week, and c.) feeling so stressed that you go into avoidance mode and spend too much time procrastinating on the internet. And especially when the questions worded as "Have you..." followed by a list of possible feelings ("Felt keyed up and on edge?" "Been unable to relax?"), and all you can answer is "Yes" or "No."

You end up answering "Yes" to, like, everything. And then the computer's all blinky lights and warning sirens and "You have a severe anxiety disorder! Get yourself to a doctor immediately!" (I only exaggerate slightly.)

But then you realise that you have been staring at the same wee basement suite walls for half a week, and you decide to go for a long walk. On that walk, you talk out all the fears about funding with your lovely husband, and conclude that things aren't so bad. And you buy a chocolate bar. And then suddenly you're no longer all shaky-jittery-stressed-out. In fact, you feel decidedly normal. Huh.

More of the same

I have sat in the hammock chair so much today that, now that I'm out of it, I still feel like I'm rocking back and forth in it. It's like getting out of a boat or train. (Is it my inner ear that makes me feel like this? Or is it the crazy?)

I am currently obsessed with the following: a.) homemade apricot jam, consumed straight out of the container with a spoon, like it's apple sauce; b.) ice cream sandwiches; c.) my hammock chair and the LCD stud finder that we bought; d.) tracking the shipment of my new computer (Chris says that I've been "insufferable" waiting for it).

Now, this is just ridiculous

Apparently, I have sensitive skin.

Skin that's so sensitive that I just got a chemical burn on my finger from not washing Tabasco sauce off quickly enough. Like, a blister formed and everything. Tabasco! That stuff is hardly even spicy! Chris drinks it like it's water!

And he won't let me live it down. He just told me that I wasn't allowed to help him with something because my skin's "too delicate."

I think I'm perfectly reasonable

Confession: I'm a little particular about table settings. I love setting the table, and I especially love lining everything up into their rightful places. Every piece, every utensil must be in its proper spot.

Chris is still coming to terms with this quirk of mine, even after two years of being married to me. You see, Chris is more concerned with efficiency. He doesn't see why his fork can't be on the right side of his plate. He uses his fork with his right hand, and so why should he have to pick it up from the left side of his plate?*

But on this matter I'm unbending. Seriously, I can't handle it to see the fork on the right side, or the knife pointing outward from the plate, or the glasses placed willy-nilly on the table. I start twitching and can't focus on anything else until I've lined up the glasses with the knives, the cultery with the bottoms of the plates, until I've flipped in all the knives.

(I confess that I've been known to follow behind someone who is setting a table, rearranging everything into their rightful places.)

I blame Girl Guides for this quirk. When I was in Pathfinders (that's Girl Guides for girls in their early teens), we would have this winter retreat at a B&B called "Bluenose Vacation Farm." While we were there, we'd learn how to bake bread and play games in the snow. We'd also have a big banquet at the end, where we'd dress up and they'd teach us how to set the table properly.** The owners stressed to us that, even when it was just the two of them sitting down to a casual meal, they always had a well-set table.

And somehow I've never shaken that. I'm not excessive -- I don't set out dishes or cutlery that we aren't going to use -- but I love the symmetry of it all. Forks on the left, with the option of adding different forks for other courses on beside them. Knives and then spoons on the right. Making a line from the knife to the water glass (I know that other people offset the cups slightly, especially if they're adding more glasses, but it's a touch I picked up at Bluenose). Knowing what a pie fork is.*** As I told Chris last night (as we were disagreeing on where to put the forks on the table), it makes my fastidious little heart sing.****

And I know that Karl's going to say that it's yet another way in which I'm "textbook OCD," but sometimes it's nice to have control over a small amount of space. Like packing a suitcase. Or organising my iTunes files. Even if my apartment's a mess, at least something's right.

*I can already hear Ky's voice: "Let the man put his cutlery where he wants to put it! This is as bad as when you pushed my plate aside with your thumbs!" They always take his side.
**Yes, I'm fully aware of how ridiculous that sounds.
***I guess I also picked up a lot of that from my Little Grandma. I still have trouble using pie forks for non-pie-related purposes.
****After I used that line, he said, "This is going to become a blog post, isn't it?" But I think that line also convinced him. Because he loves it when crazy things make me happy.

Relief

I was trying to fix something with IE7 and somehow my Outlook Express disappeared. And I couldn't find any of my e-mail files. And then I was freaking out, and running Undelete Programs (which couldn't find my e-mails, either), and realising how much that I needed (including my online plane ticket information) had suddenly disappeared.

And so I gave up and re-installed OE. And there are my e-mails. I have no idea what I just did, but I hereby swear off trying to fix things myself anymore. I'm just glad that all of those e-mails are still there.