Through The Looking Glass

On the route I drive to work every day, there is a place where the road curves to the right as I switch lanes to the left. Every day as my car seems to slide from one lane to the other I think my tires will slide on the ice and I will glide too far left, into oncoming traffic. (Of course, there is no ice. But I learned to drive in upstate New York, and have slid on many an ice patch.) Today I made the lane change behind a truck, going much slower than usual. I did not feel that loss of control, however fictional it may be, and so did not feel the wave of relief when I regained it. I missed the feeling, somehow. Perhaps it is the one time all day that I feel I have control, as I drive to a place I do not wish to be. I don’t know.

When we lived in Pittsburgh (I was twenty, if it matters) I worked at a shop that sold lingerie (stripper clothes), adult toys (Kama Sutra edibles; dildos), leather, and gifts (I can only remember handmade soaps, but there was a pretty wide selection). Clientelle was largely gay, naturally. The shop was in a black neighborhood. Besides the owner and his wife, there were two employees: myself and another woman. The owner was a thoroughly charming misogynist-racist-homophobe who verbally abused his wife and their 12-year-old daughter. One might wonder why he opened that type of shop in that sort of neighborhood with those employees, but one would just as well spend her time bashing her head against the wall.

Once, he accused me of working for the IRS because I’d Z’d out the register, as I did every night, and the register tape had gone missing (I handed it to his wife, as I did every night). Working for the IRS, people. I can’t even write it without italics.

Today, I thought that (the store, not the IRS) might be a nicer job to have.

Sam is teething. (Stick with me, this really is about my job.) I know I’ve been saying he’s teething since he was three months old, and I know he still doesn’t have any teeth, but that doesn’t make me a liar! He is just taking his sweet ass time. The two bottom teeth are finally looking like they could poke through at any minute, and he has been very vocal about his dislike of the process. We had a splendid weekend, but bedtimes were more like scream for two hours times. We ran out of tylenol, which was not an easy thing to do considering my reticence to give the baby drugs. He also nursed non-freakin’-stop. Enough that it never once crossed my mind to pump. Sometime during the Oscars (we weren’t watching, but I think it’s a good frame of reference) it occurred to me that there was very little milk and I was going to be gone for ten hours. So I tried to pump. For hours. And got, like, one and a half ounces, which if you don’t know about these things I will simply tell you is not very much and certainly not enough.

So. Today I was only able to work a partial day. Between 10:something and 3:something I got yelled at multiple times for not doing things I was never told to do. I was also told to water down Sam’s milk. Then I was told a story about Nestle getting in trouble for doing that in Africa. Um, Nestle makes formula. Formula is NOT the same as milk, and Sam will not be getting any. And the only thing I will give Sam watered down is WATER.

The thing is, I am very good at this job — the parts I have figured out so far (i.e. the parts I have actually been told about). I could see myself staying in it for some time, if the creative side pans out and if I do not kill my boss. But only if I give up my freelance work and possibly my writing career (which, yes, those are sort of the same thing, but only sort of). And only if I can learn to live with being away from Sammy for ten hours a day four or five days a week.

And I just don’t think I can. So please, someone: give me a job. One that will be easier on my heart. Alternately, a loan of about $15,000 would take care of our debt, which would mean my freelance and Will’s job could pay the bills until we sell a script. Or possibly a kidney.

Will: She has a flashlight on her M60.
me: …
Will: It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen!
me: Sweetheart, we’re watching VIP.

Poor Will. (If you have no idea what I am talking about, the quick version is that a flashlight is appropriate for close quarters combat, and an M60 is a squad assault weapon, appropriate for mowing down bad guys at a distance. Allow me to enumerate a few of the problems here:

• Using a flashlight on an assault weapon makes you nothing but a target.
• Using an M60 in a hallway is retarded.
• Thinking that you can aim an M60 is laughable.

This is now the longest parenthetical imaginable on a QOTD.)

This is what I’ve been working on:

Thursday night at Stitch ‘n Bitch, Mary-Jo seemed quite impressed when I said I was working with Cascade Superwash. I hastily clarified that I was using Superwash for that particular stripe, but the whole blanket will most certainly not be machine washable. I wish! I am making this from leftover worsted weight yarns in wool and wool blends. I also bought several balls at Unwind’s back room sale, one of which happened to be Superwash. (The purchase was made possible by Laurie Ann. Thank you.)

Also heard at Stitch ‘n Bitch (from Gwen): “I didn’t know you crocheted!” I’ve actually known how for considerably longer than I’ve knitted (12 years vs. 2). But I’ve only ever made hats and assorted unfinished scarves (and one unfinished spiderweb). This is the first big project I’ve tackled.

It is, naturally, a blanket for Sam. Finally. I began knitting a blanket from Blue Sky alpaca and silk when I was pregnant. It remains unfinished, and I intend to frog it and make something for myself with the yarn. Alpaca and silk. I don’t know what I was thinking. I also started one with acrylic, but I can’t bring myself to give my baby acrylic. Someday I’ll finish that one and give it away. It was a very nice blanket.

The boss was out of the office today, so I was finally able to get through my backlog of work. (Two weeks and I have a backlog. I know.)

Oh — here’s a funny story. I forgot the pump part of the pump today. Wait, did I say funny? IT SUCKED. Will had the car so he brought it to me, but still. SUCK.

Here’s another one. The intern? Showed up (late, but I forgive because it was raining). Asked how much of the job was phones. All of it, as I told her on the phone. And via email. And at her in person interview. She says she isn’t “comfortable” with that. I tell her “no hard feelings,” which is clearly a lie, and look at the door. She marches out with — no hyperbole — her nose in the air.

One more. The other intern? Who I interviewed and hired over the phone? Showed up on time. In jeans and a sweatshirt, which is perfectly acceptable intern dress but not on your FIRST DAY when we’ve never met. Worked for 1.5 hours. Was actually doing pretty well, though he mumbles. Went to lunch. NEVER CAME BACK.

After work the boys picked me up and we drove to the Farmers Market. We ate supper (Sam loves plantains) and Sam flirted with all the Stitch ‘n Bitchers. Catherine brought a huge batch of her ginger snaps. Will said no, but I let Sam have one. He destroyed it, pulverized it, masticated it to death. He LOVED it. And then he ran (crawled) around in circles, shouting and laughing, for half an hour. I calmly crocheted until he crashed, then packed up and brought him home. He and Will had a bath, he cried for five seconds and then happily fell asleep nursing. When I set him in bed, he didn’t even move to get comfy. He is OUT.

Maybe I should consider giving him sugar every night…

The fucking intern was a no-show but called hours later to see when she should come in tomorrow. WTF? I am a complete sissy and told her to come in. If she is as annoying as I fear, I will grow a pair and fire her. (Her voice could shred steel. Why didn’t I tell her to fuck off?)

I am secretly hoping she googles my name.

When I am not home, Sam only naps when Will takes him on long walks. I am thrilled that he naps at all, but poor Will is not getting any break at all.

This can’t go on.

I had to interview prospective interns. This is hell, people. Hell.

Also: I’ve had a borderline migraine since Saturday.

And last night I dreamed that Sam was in the hospital for surgery.

While sorting the laundry:

I know you came out of my vagina, but I do NOT want you to put my underwear in your mouth!