Broke

I'm all done with my Christmas break, which I guess I would classify as being successful. My flight to DC was only delayed 45 minutes, a miracle when people were spending days on the floors of airports as snow and ice whipped through most of the country, and I spent a lot of time reading, including finishing the damn D.H. Lawrence book I started and then had to finish because I'd gotten too far to just walk away. Everything was peaceful until Dec. 23, when my sister came home and generally caused a lot of angst, and then I got back to DFW without any flight delays and without getting charged for extra weight on my suitcase. So glad that ticket clerk was too busy with another passenger to pay attention to the scale!

I like breaks. They're gratifying. Sure, vacation is nice, but sometimes I just want time off where I don't really do a lot and most of my time is spent on a couch. That's a good break. Traveling to new places or cities often requires stress, the stress of being someplace new, of anxiety, the stress of being excited and overextending yourself, doing more in three or four days than most people do in an entire month. A break just requires showing up, that's all.

I did so some things--I went in to school with my mother, who's an elementary school music teacher, the day after I arrived and made photocopies for her and helped tidy up her classroom in preparation for winter break. I briefly went into work with my father, who will be retiring from the Air Force soon, and met all of the people he works with and had to really, really keep ahold of my curiosity since he works in an office where they put classified documents in paper sacks to be destroyed and then write "SECRET" on them. Seriously, so tempting. I saw Liz and Pat, who I saw briefly in San Francisco during their wedding weekend but was able to spend more time with in DC, where they actually live, and get cupcakes at the same time. I went to the Newseum, which I'll get into on a later post, and indulged myself in some journalistic dorkiness. I got to sift through a bunch of boxes of my childhood stuff in my parents' basement, setting aside stuffed animals and books to be donated and throwing away all my CD cases, now that they're all loaded on my computer and the discs are in a giant book. Remember buying a new CD and how difficult they were to open, with all the little stickers, and then flipping through the booklet to see lyrics or photos or credits and shout-outs to mothers and others who helped the band in some way?

I've also gotten over my shame for this one, but I read the first book in the Twilight series. My mother had read the first two, and she said they were entertaining enough, so I found a copy at the secondhand book store and read it. It was entertaining. It was like candy. It's good for a short while, and then you feel the need to have something with more substance. I have the second one in my suitcase to read soon . . . that's why my luggage is always so close to the weight limit (or over) when I fly home. I fill half of my big suitcase with books, take them home and switch them out with other books, since most of mine are still with my parents. Then I fly home with switched-out books plus all the books I've bought. If real paper-and-stiching books weren't so gratifying, I'd totally get onto the whole e-book thing just for portability.

I flew back on Saturday night and then had to go to a surprise party thing for one of Dan's brothers, who's getting deployed to Iraq in February. It was fairly awkward, and then last night I saw his family again because they were having a late birthday celebration for Dan, whose real birthday was on the day of the surprise party (and therefore generally ignored). That was also fairly awkward. I find myself thinking that even one day when I'm married, I may still want to spend breaks on my parents' couch, reading books and watching reruns.

Take That!

Reporters who work for the Associated Press have been in a byline stroke, not allowing their names to be run on their stories.

Oh, silly reporters. Nice thought, though.

I've continued being slightly frenzied, working to get out of here without having to write stories from home, and right now it looks like I'll only have one story to write while I'm at home (a special pub coming to bite me in the ass again, I should have seen it coming). Today I'll write my two stories this Dec. 22, and on Friday I wrote two for the 29, and today I even did two interviews for the Jan. 5 issue. Amazing! I'm sort of proud of myself.

This weekend I also blew my eardrums out at the Eagles of Death Metal concert in Dallas (I would link to their website but I think it has some annoying background sound on it that was irritating the hell out of me last week), got guilted into buying books for Toys for Tots, got a hair cut, made cookies, ate a lot of cookies, saw Adrian for the first time in months, got a tour of the wedding gifts Adrian and April got, and pretty much wrapped up Christmas shopping.

I'm so ready to sit on my parents' couch and have them buy me stuff now. I have my eye on this book bag from Barnes and Noble (so many pockets!), and I need more socks.

Also, I've got some things going on over the time at home, so I'll probably blog about those. I may even blog about the anticipated drama regarding my sister (still doesn't have a full-time job) and my parents (who don't want to p ay her rent anymore).

I hope everyone enjoys their vacations!

Glorious Daze

Thursday afternoon, 3:38 p.m., and I have hit boredom. Hooray!

This week has been really busy; I've had tons of interviews scheduled, trying to get ahead on work for our holiday deadline schedule and so I don't have too much to take home with me next week when I use up the rest of my vacation days. I've felt anxious a few times at how much stuff stuff stuff has to be done, and I've walked around all week loudly saying, "I had four back-to-back interviews scheduled this afternoon. I'm just so busy!" and "I had to be here at 7:30 this morning to get an interview done! I'm so tired!" It's basically just making myself feel better about the fact that yes, I'm being productive, but that I should probably be this productive ALL the time. Every week should be busy. I should always be working ahead. But I don't, so I pat myself (loudly) on the back when I do.

I'm expecting that I will probably have to take some work home with me next week, but with any luck it won't be too much. I fly out Wednesday late morning and arrive in D.C. around 4 p.m. or so, and Thursday is deadline day, so I'm hoping to get everything done for that week ahead of time. Then I'll have one story for the week of Christmas due by Friday, and I might end up working on that one Thursday at home, but I hope not. I've got all the reporting done for that story, so I hope I can keep myself motivated enough to make the final push here so I can be more relaxed there, but we'll see.

This week it got seriously cold here, with snow in Dallas on Tuesday night (it was just sleet in the Arlington/Mansfield area, where I was at the barn, and I don't know what happened in Fort Worth because it quickly passed). I went out for a long, cold run last night, digging my running tights out and putting some short sweats over them. It felt really, really good, and I'd go out today but I don't have anything with me. I also don't have any barn clothes with me. I think I'm just going to go home, take a nap, read my book, watching TV and go to bed early for my interview tomorrow morning.

I always feel guilty when I go home after work and don't do anything. I feel like I should be at the barn, be running, be seeing someone, but today? Fuck that. I'm rewarding myself for such a hard week.

The Sky Is Falling

When the Chicago Tribune and LA Times parent company is filing for bankruptcy, it makes journalists everywhere feel nauseous.

Does anyone else find it strange that they filed in a court in Delaware? Delaware? This seems like the first time I've ever heard of the state being referenced in a national news story.

The whole thing also shocks me just because of the scale of the debts the company had--$900 million in interest payments in the next year? A $69.55 million junior debt payment due today that they couldn't pay? And I stress out about a couple of thousand on my credit card from moving back and forth across the country.

This weekend, when I was down with the grandparents and other assorted extended family members, we talked a bit about the state of journalism. I said it was a precarious industry, and I knew things were bad, but I didn't know they were this bad. This is taken from the story:

A note on an internal Tribune Company Web site said, “All ongoing severance payments, deferred compensation and other payments to former employees have been discontinued and will be the subject of later proceedings before the court.” That made it apparent that employees who recently were laid off or took buyouts would join the long list of unsecured creditors.

That means reporters, mid-level editors, designers, copy editors, sales reps, whatever, people who got laid off and screwed over before are now not even going to get the money to get them through as they look for a new job any time soon. That's tremendously shitty, affecting their lives and their families, especially in the winter when expenses are higher---and no, I'm not talking about paying for Christmas gifts. I'm talking about heating homes, stuff like that.

(As an aside with a pet peeve of mine--WHY does the AP Stylebook dictate that newspapers should still make Web site into two words, one of which is capitalized? It's retarded looking and makes it look like it's some new-fangled technology that no one's ever heard of. People are smarter and more tech-savvy than that, AP. Get with it. Update this shit for 2009, I beg of you.)

Supposedly there's going to be reorganizing in the papers, which just means more people will get laid off. They won't even be getting a severance package at the moment, either.

It just makes me sad, angry and afraid. I'm someone with a decent, secure job that I enjoy, so I can't even imagine what those in the company are feeling. If you know a journalist, show them some love. We would be incredibly grateful.

Clean

Last weekend Dan made me promise to start tidying up my bedroom. Oy freaking vey.

It's not that Dan was being pushy or anything. It's just that my room is a freaking disaster. The only reason I'm in my bedroom is to be in my bed--I don't have a TV in there, and it's not very big so there's no place to sit or anything, so bedroom=bed in my mind.

My bedroom also has a miniscule closet, and for the longest time I didn't have a chest of drawers or dresser or anything. I shipped most of my clothes from Boston here to Fort Worth, and they arrived in giant cardboard boxes that I never totally unpacked. I picked up more clothes from my parents in DC, who shipped them in smaller cardboard boxes that I never totally unpacked. Even after I got some rinky-dink drawer things (because I am cheap and poor), it wasn't doing a lot of good. The drawers of one would fall out even if the drawer was only open two inches.

So anyway. All my clothes were basically in heaps, flowing out of boxes and those pop-up laundry bags. Lots were on the floor in heaps. Lots were also in the back of my car, another thing still not unpacked from the move. (YES, I realize I've been here two years now, but stick with me here.)

Over the long Thanksgiving weekend I started mowing through my clothes--lots of washing; three cycles in our dryer, which doesn't have much power; lots of folding and hanging and carefully making stacks of clothing. Dan promised me an old dresser with working drawers from his parents' place. My room all of the sudden has a floor. I have two garbage bags full of clothes and shoes and whatnot to donate to Goodwill. I suddenly have a lovely bedroom, even found some superglue to fix some of the art pieces I had to hang on the walls.

I love my bedroom now. I hope I can keep it relatively clean. I'm still not spending any time in there, though.

Well-Rested And Working Ahead

It's December, and I'm officially stressed out about work. I'm stressed out because I'm taking significant time off for the holidays to see my family in DC, and so I'm working ahead on top of the working ahead we're supposed to be doing anyway. Add that to the fact that half of my sources are trying to leave on vacation too, and that jack shit happens on the local health care scene during December and January, and I feel fucked.

Despite my anxiety, things appear to be going (I'm hoping this doesn't jinx it) ok. I've been able to call and schedule things, and I've even had a few people call with story ideas. I'm working ahead, which hardly ever happens. I'm not programmed to work ahead; it almost makes me as nervous as procrastinating, but I'm familiar with procrastination. It's an old friend. We get along well. I'm not sure I really need new friends like working ahead right now.

The real thing that's ticked me off lately was one of these PR people in a major city across the country who's repping a local company and just CANNOT leave me alone. Yesterday and today included bouts of really spiteful comments, just because I was so angry and couldn't take my frustrations out directly on this person.

I fantasize about bitching out a bad PR person some day. But then, I also fantasize about bitching out my sister and other people who tick me off, and it never really happens. I don't have the guts to be as bitchy in person as I am in my imaginary conversations in my head.

I'm sitting on the couch right now, watching House. The couch is my favorite place to be lately, especially when I'm in sweatpants and under two blankets. The living room is the coldest room of the apartment--the hottest in the summer--but I don't have a TV in my room and my internet is sketchy in there. Plus, there's nowhere to sit in my room except on the bed, and if I'm on my bed I'm gonna fall asleep pretty quickly.

Over the Thanksgiving break I spent a lot of time on this couch--reading, watching TV, lots of napping. I really can't stomach TV commercials, so I usually mute the TV during commercial breaks and read my book in 2-minute intervals. It's pretty lame, but that's how I roll. This is how I spend my time during the evenings when I'm done with running and the barn.

I also know this is probably how I'll spend significant time at home with my family. My parents are a fairly quiet bunch--they go out and run errands and go to craft fairs and stuff like that during the day, but they're usually at home in the living room by about 7:30 and in bed by about 9:30. (This makes sense when your idea of sleeping in is to sleep until 5:30 a.m.)

I would worry what my quiet evenings say about me, about how freaking boring I'll be when I'm 40, but then that hopefully I'll be a well-rested 40-year-old instead of one of those perpetually-tired ones, and that makes me feel better.